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Transplanted 



May Cummings 

Author of 

The Threshold of Nirvana 


Baltimore 

Saulsbury Publishing Company 
1918 








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&PR -9 1913 








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©CI.A492895 

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Copyright, 1918, by 
May Cummings. 



TRANSPLANTED. 


CHAPTER I. 

A great forest of cypress gloomed against the 
skyline to the south, cut along its northern edge 
by a little creek on its way to the broad current 
of the lower Mississippi. Far up the gentle slope 
to the north and facing the jutting bluffs of a 
small promontory stood Belleroche, massive and 
square; the dull red of its masonry visible here 
and there through the dense foliage, embowering 
colonnaded porch and lofty galleries. 

A yellow haze brooded over the vast reaches of 
river and vale. It was a scene of early autumn 
languishing in late summer’s drought. The giant 
live oaks on the lawn betrayed sallowness in the 
crisping edges of their leaves, and the coarse grass 
underfoot was like tinder. No sign of life stirred 
within the broad, open hall. A sleepy negro 
lounged at the steps in waiting for a chance visi- 
tor. A latticed summer house, over grown with 
vines, looked inviting and had evidently been 
found so, as there was a flash of color visible 
among the vines, and on nearer approach the 
murmur of voices. 

On a rustic seat within, half reclined a young 
man gazing indolently at the gipsy girl beside 
him, with head bent over the white, delicate hand 
passive in the grasp of her own dirty brown fin- 
gers. Silently the beady eyes scanned the smooth 


6 


TRANSPLANTED. 


palm with its faint tracery of lines; caressingly 
a black-bordered nail tapped each gentle “mound" 
so notable in palmistry. The subject was grow- 
ing impatient, however. 

“Come, come! Why do you not say some- 
thing. You act as if afraid. Is my fortune as 
ugly as my face?" 

“No, senor; never ugly. You have the noble 
looks and your hand is gentle. But the life line 
is crossed and the love line wanders. Mother of 
Saints! I looked for the one to heal the other! 
Ah, what am I saying ! Let the gipsy look again ; 
we may find a fairer fate." 

But the young man had risen, and was waving 
her aside. 

“That is enough. I gave you the piece of sil- 
ver. The next fortune teller will have a different 
story, I hope." 

“Have pity, senor, you mock me. Let me try 
again — pray, pray” — and the red-skirted figure 
fell on one knee, clasping the man’s wrists and 
endeavoring to turn his palms upward. Play- 
fully clenching his fingers, he smiled down at her 
eager efforts. 

Simultaneously with a quick tread on the gravel 
outside was heard a voice of authority. 

“Philip, I have come personally to remind you 
of the propriety that seems to have deserted you 
for a moment. We have visitors and if one of 
the servants reports this escapade, your mother 


TRANSPLANTED. 


7 


will have one more occasion for grief. Your lack 
of courtesy, Philip — ” 

The speaker was tall and dignified, clad in well 
worn broadcloth and immaculate linen, a typical 
southern gentlemen of the seventies. 

“I beg your pardon, father; I did not know 
mother expected me in the drawing room. I had 
the afternoon to myself and — ” 

“To yourself! Upon my word, sir. Because 
you have the time, you must admit gipsy fortune 
tellers to the grounds, and I find you thus. Girl ! 
begone instantly! I will have no trespassing 
from your kind. If you dare be seen here again 
Sam will set the dogs on you.” 

The gipsy had lingered with the effrontery of 
her race, until the final sentence turned her smiles 
to terror. Whimpering, she slunk aside, and 
once outside the arbor ran down the path like a 
deer. 

. “Philip, your lapses of late have been serious. 
We gentlefolk, despoiled as we are, have our 
hereditary dignity to sustain. My humiliation 
at the sight of your consorting with that low 
creature is extreme. We did not know where to 
find you, so excuses were made to the visitors 
and they no longer expect you. Were you in the 
least thoughtful of your mother, you might assist 
ber in receiving and entertaining guests.” 

“Father, father!” The clear-cut features were 
high and sharp with indignity, the dark eyes 
glowing. “I beg you allow me a word. These 


8 


TRANSPLANTED. 


poor wanderers should evoke pity rather than 
scorn. As a southern gentleman I protest against 
setting dogs on a woman.” 

“And I command you to abjure the company 
of these strollers and such outcasts. The whole 
thieving cavalcade moves on tomorrow, I am glad 
to know. That camp on the river has been a 
demoralizing influence.” 

“Not necessarily. The young folk go at night 
to see the gipsy dances — the Spanish fandango 
and El Son. Some of these are said to be the very 
poetry of motion. Knowing your prejudices, I 
have remained away, and I humbly beg pardon 
for what has happened this afternoon. We 
young men oft fall into follies.” 

“Follies! With our fair Southland sapped of 
its sustenance, its sinews cut, one would think 
we had done forever with follies.” 

“Who were the guests this afternoon, father?” 

“When I tell you, perhaps you may understand 
why your dereliction mortifies us so. Madame 
Chartrain and her daughters. It is time you 
went courting, and your mother has made a wise 
choice in Isabelle Chartrain. The girl is modest, 
pure as a lily, with a heart of gold.” 

“She makes me think of one, too, in her sway- 
ing grace of movement and that waxen complex- 
ion. But father, wait until I grow out of my 
hobble-de-hoy ways.” 

“Sir, you put me out of all patience! Haven’t 
I told you this roystering must stop. This phil- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


9 


andering with gipsies has decided the question. 
In the old days such an offense might have been 
condoned; the new regime calls for a loftier 
pose. I leave you to ponder that.” 

Watching the stately form of Major Carewe 
down the path through the oleanders and hy- 
drangeas, the eyes of this undutiful son grew 
langourous again, reflecting the smile of his mo- 
bile lips. By Jove, that's the best text I’ve ever 
given him! Holy pride of race and name! To 
think of the Madame and demoiselles calling in 
state while the destined parti was amusing him- 
self with a gipsy fortune teller ! Poor old dear of 
a pater, though, too mortified to send one of the 
gossiping negroes, coming in person, thankful 
every step that this arbor stands in such seclusion, 
at the end of a veritable labyrinth. Otherwise 
we might have been descried from the veranda. 

How lucky to be able to tell him I have 
not yet visited the camp. He need never know 
whether I keep my promise to the girl tonight or 
not. Whence all this puritanical prejudice, any- 
way? Father isn’t fifty yet, but he is for renun- 
ciation in the absolute. Time was when we saw 
these very gipsies dancing under the oaks and 
their elfin children scrambling for pennies. I 
shall take the opportunity of seeing the Spanish 
dances once more after having made peace with 
mother, who, saintly soul, is seldom difficult.” 

However, Mrs. Carewe was inclined to be diffi- 
cult this evening when her son essayed propitia- 


10 


TRANSPLANTED. 


tion. Her fragile form was erect in the great 
arm chair and the red of petulance glowed on 
either thin cheek. 

“Philip, I had hoped you might respect my 
wishes in regard to hospitality. When I have no 
one to assist me in receiving guests and you are 
nowhere to be found, the effort is too great for 
my invalidism. As a young lad you were my 
dependence and it has been my joy and comfort 
to invite visitors with the expectation of meeting 
you.” 

“Callers do not miss me now, chere maman. 
Because the little lad resembled his mother they 
fancied his looks. Ladies do not care for a tall, 
reedy spindling — ” But the thin little maternal 
hand was held up for silence. “No badinage 
now, Philip, please. Madame Chartrain was vis- 
ibly annoyed and Isabelle, too.” 

“I venture neither looked half so pretty in her 
anger as you do now. Let me kiss away that 
line between your brows, chere petite maman, 
and then forgive your naughty son, ingrate 
though he is and breaker of the whole social 
decalogue.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

The last gleam of sunset had faded from the 
pale sky of twilight. Thick masses of river fog 
were rolling in through the weird ranks of cy- 
press sentinels along the low bluffs fending Belle- 
roche from rapine of turbid waters. The planta- 
tion had taken its name from that of an islet 
boldly facing the promontory. Craggy towers of 
red and yellow sandstone crowned its saucy head, 
while boulders of purple, slate and brown lay 
heaped at their base. A moment since all had 
shone like a jewel against the muddy water, but 
the youth walking under the trees had not seen 
it. He watched some flame-like glimmerings far 
down the bank. As twilight deepened the ruddy 
light of a campfire in the forest pierced the gloom 
like the ray of a beckoning star. 

In response to some far-away call of venture- 
some blood, Philip Carewe descended the slope, 
crossed the little bridge and set out for the low- 
lands bordering on the vast marshes to southward. 

The gipsy camp was on a knoll where the higher 
ground afforded a sparse growth of magnolias 
and live oaks, instead of the dense cypresses and 
willows of the swamp. The fire which had served 
for cooking supper was now a huge ember heap 
and in the glow could be seen the circling forms 
of dancers — men in short trousers, girls in striped 
skirts with scarfs about their shoulders. Typi- 


12 


TRANSPLANTED. 


cal Don Juans, fierce in bristling mustachios, 
strummed on guitar and mandolin. Older folk 
were huddled in the background seated on in- 
verted baskets. The scampering children threw 
brush wood on the fire, arousing a fitful glare. 

From somewhere in the shadows a form came 
to meet the visitor. He recognized her instantly, 
tall, sylph like, swaying in unison with the trees 
in the night wind. “Buenos noches, Senor, the 
Spanish girl does not forget.” 

“Good evening, my Amaryllis. I shall keep 
my intention of calling you Amaryllis, no matter 
what your name may be. Will you teach me the 
dance?” 

“We are all dying to teach you. Here is Lolita, 
and there Mona.” 

“I want you — first at least. The reboso?” 

“Here, I have this one — the scarlet with silver 
fringe. Hold the corners with the finger tips, so. 
Your senora takes the other end like this. Move 
the feet this way; next, whirl on the toes. The 
music, the music ! Play, Rodriguez ! Play, 
Carlos!” 

The other dancers stopped to watch the strange 
couple. The young dandy in the regular evening 
attire of the period, the girl with long braids fly- 
ing from shoulders clad in coarse cotton. Back 
and forth they swayed in unison, holding the 
long scarf high above their heads, now winding 
it about each whirling form in turn. 


TRANSPLANTED. 


13 


An old crone crouching against a tree some- 
what apart, gave a shriek of alarm and rushed 
toward the dancers. “Stop, stop. Something — 
el diablo, crashing and crackling.” 

The musicians let fall their instruments. Philip 
and his partner, shocked out of their gay aban- 
don, stood still, confronted by a monster that ap- 
peared half man and half beast, until the firelight 
gave it the outlines of a mule-mounted negro. 
The darky pulled off his tattered hat, revealing a 
crown of snowy wool, and with it belabored his 
refractory steed. “Get along, Jinny, ef yo' o P 
haid aint al'ays on de wrong end. Marse Philip, 
I axes yo' pahdon, suh, cyant get dish yer mewl 
no closah.” 

“Very well, Nathaniel. I understand and am 
right at your side,” and the young man had 
cleared the intervening space at a bound. “What 
brings you?” 

“OF Marse rarin' an' de missus, yo' ma, mighty 
sick. Majah don’ know whah you is, but Suse 
Em'ly, my gal, done seed you cross de bridge. I 
Pink dat Suse been walkin' wid dat yaller Dolphus 
and she gwine get a raw hidin'.” 

“Oh Nathaniel ! Mother sick ! She was well this 
afternoon.” 

“Dunno 'bout dat. Miss Adelaide mighty white 
all day an' don' eat nothin', Mammy Luce say.” 

“I'll be at her side as soon as the Lord gives me 
strength to get there.” 

When Philip Carewe entered his mother's room 


14 


TRANSPLANTED. 


that night, the eyes of all present might have 
burned into his flesh, but he heeded naught ex- 
cept the still form in the great white bed. On 
his knees he sought the delicate loved hand and 
covered it with tearful kisses. Oh, joy; it was 
warm ! A moment later its mate was laid on his 
head. 

“Mother, mother! I was so frightened. Are 
you better now?” 

“Yes, dear; much better since you are safe. 
They said you had gone for a walk and toward the 
lowlands, and I remembered the dangers of those 
places. Since the war nothing is safe. You 
might have been robbed and murdered — the 
swamp has swallowed up many a human life. 
And you are wearing your watch fob and seal 
ring. I am glad you left your scarf pin at home — 
the one you wore at dinner this evening.” 

“Ma chere petite maman! Pm all right. You 
must not get nervous over a big, careless fellow 
like me. There is no danger. I went walking 
among the cypresses — they look so queer at night. 

“Now the good doctor’s medicine will give you 
sleep, and tomorrow we shall plan a drive to Fleur- 
de-Lis.” 

“Good night, Phillie. You are so dear — all I 
have.” 

His diamond pin ! As the candles of his dress- 
ing table revealed a disheveled white tie, a sick- 
ening sense of shame consumed Philip Carewe. 
Amaryllis turned pickpocket! What sort of a 


TRANSPLANTED. 


15 


dupe had he become to fall in with low thieves? 
And now what duplicity must be practiced to keep 
the dread knowledge from his mother, the frail 
little mother who had hysterics over every un- 
accountable absence, whose fancy conjured up 
images of terror every time her son left her arm- 
chair. 

When merciless memory presented her taking 
the tiny diamond form her own brooch and hav- 
ing it reset for her son’s own birthday gife, flames 
of self contempt shriveled his very soul. 















































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TRANSPLANTED. 


17 


CHAPTER III. 

The sultriness of the night increased. With 
the dawn came a downpour of rain. The great 
storm sweeping the valley had already spent its 
main force ; but a rapid rise of the river was im- 
minent as a result of the northerly tempests. 

Mammy Luce reported her mistress as re- 
freshed with her few hours’ sleep. Major Carewe 
forbore comment on the events of the previous 
night, a reticence that humiliated Philip more 
than any homily could have done. Both father 
and son felt the constraint of altered relations; 
recognized by the elder man as betokening the 
alien spirit of youth in new times. 

Since the command “cease firing,” seven years 
before, reconstruction had evoked all latency of 
power in the Louisiana planter. He had been 
obliged to face a mounting wave of dissolution 
with whatever of resource was left. Broken 
levees, grass-grown cotton fields, silent sugar 
mills, all proclaimed the passing of lash-drawn 
toil. 

Strife and stress had wrought in Major Carewe 
the change from easy elegance to a stern, even 
brusque, manner. English puritanism, dormant 
for centuries, awaits but the call of adversity to 
rise, girt for the fray. The tension of heart 
strings, so responsive to Cromwellism, now taut- 
ened brain and nerve fiber to meet the exigencies 


18 


TRANSPLANTED. 


of defeat and loss. Floating and derelict as the 
labor of the freed slave must be, judicial manage- 
ment of a captious crew had redeemed some of the 
Carewe lands from the decay of neglect. To leave 
his son’s patrimony intact was impossible, yet the 
owner of Belleroche hoped to clear the entire 
peninsula formed by river and creek of indebted- 
ness. On the lowlands along the mile of river 
front cotton crops were assured, barring damages 
from inundation. Spring floods were compara- 
tively harmless to the young plants, but in autumn 
the action of water was fatal to the maturing 
bolls. The sugar mills of the plantation had been 
partially destroyed by the negroes in their first 
burst of freedom, so the cultivation of cane was 
impracticable at present. 

Problems manifold were clamoring for solu- 
tion in Major Carewe’s brain as he sat over his 
letters and accounts in the library that rainy 
morning. Philip’s delinquencies were in abey- 
ance; also the nervous attack of Mrs. Carewe, as 
a temperamental ebullition. Chivalry had been 
in Major Carewe the utmost indulgence of femi- 
nine caprice, though he had no mind to see his son 
a perpetual chevalier of flower and fan. The 
defection of the evening before had not drawn 
special remark from a man so long accustomed 
to the terrors of a delicate, ailing woman. Philip, 
however, had been badly shaken, and fancied the 
paternal state of mind as that of extreme dis- 
pleasure. Now, with what composure he could 


TRANSPLANTED. 


19 


command, he offered his services in disposing of 
the accumulation of work on his father’s desk. 
Why had he been so tardy in any attempt to re- 
lieve those burdened shoulders? 

By the magic of kindred occupation the ugly 
barriers of discord melted away and the two be- 
came quite happy together in an hour. 

“What a deluge of rain,” remarked Philip, 
rising to shelve a large ledger. “And if it grows 
darker, shall I ring for candles, father?” 

“No, thank you. This is all until after lunch- 
eon. I must go to your mother now. She is no 
doubt lonely.” 

“Yes, sir; and I had hoped to take her to drive 
soon. We planned to call on the Chartrains at 
Fleur-de-lis. 

The smile lifting the corners of the stern mus- 
tache undermined the culprit’s last stone of self- 
possession. 

“Ah, indeed; that will please her, to have you 
beside her in the coach. The Chartrain ladies 
are delightful company. Your poor mother en- 
tertained them and many others in the old days. 
We must manage a few weeks for her in New 
Orleans this winter. Her old friends and ac- 
quaintances there would plan the gayeties she 
likes. Dr. Lanfranc says her nerves will be better 
for all the amusement we can give her. Would 
I could atone for the havoc of war on her happi- 
ness. During those four dreadful years she was 
haunted with visions of negro insurrection and my 


20 


TRANSPLANTED. 


bleeding corpse on the battlefield. How could I 
leave her? For nothing less than the call of the 
Southland, which was to me the call of God. And 
she sent me, too, bade me face the Yankee guns 
for her sake, buckling my sword-belt with her 
dainty fingers, holding you, my lad, within the 
circle of her arms.” 

“And I a youngster of nine or ten. Well I re- 
member her calm face amid the wailing negroes 
who knew nothing more than ‘Marse gwine ter 
de wah.’ ” . 

“The rain increases. I fear we shall not drive 
for many days. The morning paper states that 
the river is rising rapidly.” 

“In that case these creeks” — and Philip was at 
the window. I see the water is already submerg- 
ing the willows and flooding the lowlands.” 

He stopped short, for his father was beside him 
scanning the scene with eyes alert for calamity. 

But there was something of interest nearer; a 
flash of color amid the trees, a red garment of 
some kind, a kerchief waving perhaps, or a scarf. 

“What is that?” almost shouted the irate 
Major. “Another of those damned gipsies! Sig- 
nalling to some of her clan, I suppose, the brazen 
huzzy. Some pilfering scheme for the stables and 
poultry yard. Nat and Joab are likely asleep this 
rainy day.” Then, at sight of a woolly head in 
the doorway, “Come, Marigold, what is it? Don’t 
stand there grinning.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


21 


“Please suh, de missus done say, is you gwine 
come ?” 

“Certainly, and now Phil not a word of this 
imminent danger. Let us be at our liveliest for 
her sake.” 

However, Mrs. Carewe’s acute senses had di- 
vined the menace although she maintained the 
pose of decorum through the ceremonious dinner 
hour. Later in the little family parlor Philip sang 
all her favorite Chansons du Provence accom- 
panying himself softly on the old piano, and read 
from Madame Sevigne. Meanwhile the tempest 
outside increased in violence until the dash of 
wind driven torrents against the shutters could 
no longer be ignored. , 

“There will be a flood,” whimpered the fright- 
ened invalid, nervously clutching her silken shawl 
with both hands. “Oh, Rodney, will the river 
destroy us? I can hear its hungry roar above the 
wind and rain. What shall we do?” 

“My dear, we can do nothing. There is no 
danger to us on the promontory. Water has 
never reached the grounds of Belleroche. Our 
guardian cypresses have withstood the storms 
of ages. The creek has probably overspread its 
valley ere this. When the current sets in through 
the marshes to southward the danger to the crops 
will be lessened. 

“Mammy Luce was praying this afternoon for 
some poor negroes on the islands in the marshes. 
She says the half-breed Indians who bring us 


22 


TRANSPLANTED. 


fish, turtles and game live there, and so many 
many wandering folk of all kinds who find a liv- 
ing somehow. Rodney, do you think they can 
escape drowning, poor, poor creatures?” 

“Tut, tut, Adelaide! Your tender heart finds 
so much occasion for grief. These strays are 
expert in guarding their own precious skins. All 
swimmers, divers and canoeists.” 

“Well, if you are sure, Rodney. Philip just one 
more song, a hymn this time. Ora Pro Nobis.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


23 


CHAPTER IV. 

Only the highest points of the gorgeous rocks 
of Bellroche Isle rose out the morning mists to 
greet the sun. Raging the brown current, debris 
strewn rushed past the old cypresses, now and 
then sending a breaker against their guarded 
trunks to dash in foam over their tops. The pe- 
ninsula where creek and river met was a surging 
sea of driftwood and wreckage spreading far up 
the valley and over the forest hidden swamps to 
the south. 

Philip Carewe — looking from the veranda tried 
to reall the location of the waving scarf of the 
preceding day. It must have been from the foot 
bridge, probably just before the waters carried 
the frail structure away. 

Amaryllis! Faugh, how he hated himself! 

A southern gentleman investing such a crea- 
ture with romance ! They were all a lying, thiev- 
ing lot as her father had said. Yet, why was the 
girl trying to signal him? Did she imagine him 
such a dupe as to return for it? Perchance the 
gipsies would protest ignorance of his loss and 
for a consideration “conjure” its recovery. The 
true import of the frantic beckoning must remain 
a mystery. Had it not been for the paternal eye 
he might have ventured ; but — filial obligation ex- 
ists in the most degenerate age, and he must go 
to his mother. 


24 


TRANSPLANTED. 


He found her propped against pillows, wan 
with sleepless bodings of ruin for Belleroche. At 
the bedside her loyal husband soothed her with 
light estimates of the probable loss. 

“The outlook is brighter now, Adelaide, the cur- 
rent setting in toward the marshes. Their over- 
flow has gained momentum enough to carry to the 
lake and river. As the river subsides the little 
creek will draw away this sea that engulfs our 
fields; and cotton will survive a submergence if 
not too long. Even so we are not bankrupt.” 

“Aren’t we really, Rodney? I dream some- 
times of Belleroche in the hands of Yankees, — of 
one like that northern man we had to entertain 
at dinner when the tract of forest land was sold. 
His talk was all of investments, investments, pay- 
ing investments. He seemed to be appraising 
everything he saw; the old mahogany tables, the 
family silver ; and I think he was afraid of break- 
ing my china from the way he clutched his coffee 
cup. Dear old Cassius was grinning all the while 
he served the table and I heard a positive guffaw 
from the kitchen which I forbore to reprimand.” 

“That is all a matter of difference in breeding, 
Adelaide. Captain Benham is a Yankee steam- 
boat captain, a worthy man in his station. His 
rise from a deck-hand is a racy story. What could 
he know of the amenities of life? He paid an 
honest price for the land and intends rafting the 
timber to New Orleans. I had no facilities for 
marketing the lumber.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


25 


“But you are weary, dearest, and we must leave 
you to Mammy Luce who is casting threats with 
every wig wag of that faithful turban — eh, 
Philip.” 

“Not so weary, Rodney; only haunted by the 
vision of some vandal desecrating our home. For 
the few years that remain I crave its shelter and 
peace for me and mine.” 


1 / 


TRANSPLANTED. 


27 


CHAPTER V. 

Alas, the “few years” were but a few months 
for Adelaide Carewe. Whether she could read 
the disaster, clouding the minds of all at Belle- 
roche through their mask of cheerfulness, none 
could tell. 

• The tense bond of things so long loved seemed 
to have snapped. Though the dreaded revelation 
was never claimed from husband or son; both 
tacitly conceded her knowledge of the truth. She 
knew it and yielded to it. 

“Neurasthenia has this characteristic,” stated 
Dr. Lanfrane. “A fright, a shock leaves the pa- 
tient calm but with lowered vitality. I fear that 
in Mrs. Carewe’s case it is the ebbing of the tide. 
A miraculous keenness of apprehension is often 
manifested in these later stages. She has divined 
the loss of her home ,and stunned by the blow, 
her senses respond but slightly to outward stim- 
uli. Sad, sad — yet ’tis merciful.” 

Major Carewe’s high features sharpened with 
grief and his voice shook as he thanked his kind 
old friend for this frank statement. 

“I feared so. She has had many nervous at- 
tacks of late. Philip, thoughtless fellow, gave her 
such a fright by his absence that evening. This 
ought to make a man of him. He is in his moth- 
er’s room singing for her now. Rarely she asks 
for music, but when she does it must be the old 


28 


TRANSPLANTED. 


French ballads to the guitar. I am so glad Philip 
gratified her in learning to play.” Both listened 
a moment in silence to the soft strumming well 
attuned to the rich tenor voice. 

“What shall a knight do for his lady ? 

Why, love her, love her, love her, pardee.” 

“My son is as yet unawakened to the needs of 
the times. I think the loss of our cotton crop 
will bring him to his senses.” 

“Enough to perceive a pretty girl’s interest. 
Last Sunday at church I observed Isabelle Char- 
train when Philip took his place in your pew, not 
directly in front of the Chartrain’s, but across 
the aisle. He spoke to her in the porch after ser- 
vice and they came down the steps together. I 
trust the lad is more susceptible than he seems. 
Appears to be walking in a dream.” 

“With our fortunes falling every day, we can 
offer no luxuries — still — ” But the doctor inter- 
posed with a gesture of negation. 

“Never disquiet yourself, the Chartrains are 
not bidding fof wealth. Isabelle and Louise have 
each a legacy from France. An uncle who never 
married left it in trust for the girls at their ma- 
jority and Isabelle is almost eighteen. A wily 
old family doctor knows when to speak and when 
to keep silent, and Phil must be enlightened. Tell 
him to stop in and see me tomorrow on his way 
to Fleur de Lis.” 

Meantime in the sick room the music had ceas- 
ed. The singer sat watching the half closed eyes 


. TRANSPLANTED. 


29 


and gentle smile on the wan face on the pillow. 
“She is resting peacefully,” he thought and es- 
sayed to steal away from the room unnoticed 
when her voice feebly sharp arrested him. 

“My son !” 

“Yes, mother; I was leaving to rest and sleep.” 

“Come here; let me look into your eyes and 
ask whether you are in love. Ah, no need of 
answer. There is something akin to love beneath 
those down-dropped lids. You do not know 
whether you love Isabelle or not; but 0, Phil, 
there ,is some wild fancy there. My dear, my 
dear, it is not the sensible attachment we long 
to see. My son, you must curb wild rovings. 
Promise me to try to love the dear girl who is 
waiting to be won. Her gentle heart is breaking. 
Promise me, Phil.” 

“There kneeling at his mother’s side, her brim- 
ming eyes fixed on his face, her wasted hands 
clasping his arm, Philip Carewe saw two faces 
rise from the shadows, one fair, pure, with starry 
eyes of forget-me-nots, the other dark passionate 
with orbs of lustrous jet — 

Three voices seemed to plead : 

“I thy mother bore, thee” 

“I thy lady love thee” 

“I thy mate seek thee.” 

“Mother, your son will do all he can for your 
happiness.” 

“And Isabelle’s happiness, too.” 


30 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Aware as he said of the protest in his own 
heart, the revolt of nature and youth, the strait- 
ened civilian within him rose in reply. What 
choice have I in the face of blood and tradition. 
Tradition! The Old South! To that dual deity 
was the grateful mother heart offering paeans of 
thankfulness though her lips named the Father 
of All. 


TRANSPLANTED. 


31 


CHAPTER VI. 

The next afternoon Dr. Lanfrane was pleased 
to welcome Philip Carewe at his home in Port 
Le Bee, a mile to the north along the river. 

The young man had acceded to his father’s 
request, and well attired and mounted made a 
creditable appearance as he rode along the shady 
sanded road. 

“So glad to see you, my boy. Regret that I 
must leave in half an hour. We professionals 
make a poor showing socially.” 

“My dear sir, do not consider my boyish affairs 
of sufficient moment to detain you.” 

“Fiddle de-dee! As if the Carewe family had 
not heights of royalty. Now Philip, I’m going at 
you headlong, and what I have to say strains every 
prerogative of family friend.” 

“Indeed you honor me, sir, in so doing. Pray 
feel no restraint.” 

“It is a question of your parents’ welfare. Your 
mother is declining rapidly, rapidly.” The urgent 
need at Belleroche is a young mistress, one who 
brings a fair amount of dowry. I know the old 
families and how indispensable it is that they 
should marry properly if we are to hold our own 
against this damnable invasion of uncouth Yan- 
keeism. Need I say more? It would be an in- 
sult to assume you indifferent to a fair lady’s re- 
gard.” 

“Thank you, sir, for imputing to me more ap- 


32 


TRANSPLANTED. 


predation than I have shown. Hereafter my 
rudeness shall be atoned for if courtesy can do it.” 

“Philip, we look to you for the realization of 
our dearest hopes.” 

These words seemed strangely vapid to the lag- 
gard in love as he made his way slowly through 
the palmetto wood that autumn afternoon. 

Fleur de Lis was a huge ivy-grown pile of 
grey stone, with a wondrous lily bordered lake 
along one side of its tangled grounds. 

As the horseman approached by the winding 
road, the forces that control destiny agitated his 
thoughts. Why should he be riding to Fleur de 
Lis in quest of a bride. Because the old family 
alliance must be strengthened. He must cast 
himself into the balance to weight the scale for 
the tribal spirit — clan spirit — the mediaeval cas- 
the spirit, brooding over the South. It emanated 
from the marshlands, thickened the glooms of the 
live oaks. It gilded the haze on canebrake and 
river. Whence this wild rebellion against it? 
Perhaps from some English freebooter; the Ca- 
rewes could trace their descent back to the pirate 
wars with Spain in Elizabeth’s time; perhaps 
from far-away fires of Celtic blood leaping forth 
to the clash of cutlasses in Highland fastness 
foray. But once attaining an assured position, 
gentlefolk must grace their station with all fit- 
ting observance. The whole duty of youth was to 
fulfill the dear hopes of their elders. 

The consummation proceeded. Madame Char- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


33 


train was not averse to Mr. Carewe’s addresses to 
her daughter, though she demurred a little at first 
as becomes a lady of quality. The young ladies 
had gone to town, but would be home to dinner. 
Would he remain? 

Opportunely Philip and Isabelle found them- 
selves alone in the drawing room after dinner; 
and Philip’s mother was greeted with news by 
her son on his arrival at home that night. 

The effect on the invalid was immediate and 
astounding. Animated by a spirit that fed on 
hope she arose took her former place in the 
household and even entertained friends in honor 
of the coming event. “Extremely hazardous 
madame,” ventured Dr. Lanfrane when she an- 
nounced her intention of attending the wedding. 
Nevertheless the journey was made to the town, 
Port le Bee, where the ceremony was solemnized 
in the little Episcopal church. Such a revival of 
former splendor as there was in the feasting 
and dancing at Fleur de Lis, that mild lovely night 
in November, celebrating the alliance of a Carewe 
and a Chartrain! 

The company small, very select, was invited 
to be present at the home-bringing of the bride 
to Belleroche. They were all there, the Lamaracs 
of Wildmere, the Dagonets of Verdillac, the Av- 
erills of Poinsetta. 

Major and Mrs. Carewe were enthralled by the 
gentle dignity of their son’s wife. As the elder 
lady weakened and lapsed into helplessness, the 


34 


TRANSPLANTED. 


i 


family heart rejoiced in that her will had not 
been thwarted. 

But misfortunes followed fast at Belleroche. 
Two years after Adelaide Carewe’s death, came 
an awful visitation of yellow fever. Against the 
pleadings of his wife, Philip Carewe went to New 
Orleans, alleging important business and returned 
on the verge of physical collapse, from the dis- 
ease, dying in three days. 

Vainly the young widow strove to keep up the 
semblance of interest in life for the sake of her 
infant daughter; but the sense of utter failure 
had crushed her soul. The man whose name she 
bore had not given her his heart ; and his indiffer- 
ence was growing into neglect. Yet in despera- 
tion the thought had taken root. “We will win, 
now, Evelyn and I” — as unloved wives have stak- 
ed their all on the advent of babes. 

But the battleground vanishes with the roman- 
tic struggle at its height. 

Silence falls ; long, long, silence. 

Lately there had been signs of capitulation. - 

One evening they sat in the arbor, Philip read- 
ing Horace, Isabelle sewing, while Evelyn in her 
perambulator, played with the blossoms that fell 
into her lap. Suddenly the book was thrust aside 
and the handsome young father’s gaze rested long 
on the cooing child. When he spoke it was of the 
necessity of making frequent business trips to 
Baton Rouge and New Orleans. “Business, busi- 
ness, barter and sale ; it taxes all my ingenuity to 


TRANSPLANTED. 


35 


keep what we have, Isabelle, but with such a de- 
voted wife any man ought to conquer. You should 
not have given me your dowry, dear, as you did, 
even to save the estate.” 

“Philip, my husband, all I have is yours. Shall 
I not entrust my little one’s future to the wisdom 
of her father.” Then the sudden pleading of 
looks and words that would live while memory 
lasted. “Ah, the faith that dwells in a gentle 
woman’s heart! Pray for me, sweet one, that I 
may not fail in the trust.” 

All in a maze of startled joy the wife had re- 
sponded by a rush of tears. Blindly letting fall 
the needle, she clasped his languid hand in both 
her thin palms and bowed her head upon them. 
From that moment life had significance. That 
instant’s response to the call and claim of loyalty, 
fealty, irradiated years of apathetic unfaith. 

The averted gaze the silent parting on the eve 
of that unaccountable absence were as naught, 
dissolved in the radiance of that memory that 
was to lighten the hour when she should know the 
material truth. They were very gentle with her, 
the family solicitors ; but no need. The fact that 
she was a destitute widow whose portion had gone 
into the maw of hydra-headed profligacy, stock 
pit, lottery, race track, gaming table, courtesan, 
was as thistle down in the balance with her one 
freighted moment, satisfying as manna, incense 
sweet, jewel bright. 

Valiantly Major Carewe had held his head high 


36 


TRANSPLANTED. 


over the ruin of earthly hopes seeking sympathy 
from none, but the stern lines of his face were 
ever ready to relax at sight of Isabelle or little 
Evelyn. 

For a few months the pathetic drooping figure 
in black crept about the house and grounds, spend- 
ing hours in the arbor watching her child at play. 

The nurse had instructions to give the child as 
much fresh air as possible and she found her 
charge more tractable in the arbor than anywhere 
else, wide-eyed with wonder at the butterflies and 
kindred creatures on the wing from flower to 
flower in the vines. The dimpled hands were 
always held out for blossoms to hold against soft 
cheeks so like unto rose petals themselves. 

“If Philip could see her now,” cried the mother 
heart, “the victory would be ours.” Th6n the 
sense of finality in failure came in a black surge 
sweeping away her hold on that memory of a 
moment jewel-like in a black mine of despair 

But it would not be for long and at length she 
broached the subject of her grandchild’s future 
to the Major. “Since mamma’s death and 
Louise’s marriage,” she faltered, “you are all in 
all to Evelyn. When I am gone she will be a 
great care to you.” 

“My daughter, let us not talk of going or of 
care. You are better today — perhaps tomor- 
row ” 

But the gallant old cavalier could say no more 
in presence of the ravage disease had wrought on 


TRANSPLANTED. 


37 


beauty and youth, the wasted frame, the hectic 
flush, the racking cough, all harbingers of death. 

And it was not long tarrying. Ere the half 
circle of another year, Isabelle had sunk into utter 
languor, six weeks of this, then the deliriums of 
the last hours, closing in eternal peace. 

“She will not witness the sale of Belleroche. 
Thank God that the supremest trial is left for 
me alone,” and the Major's voice had the ring of 
his soldier youth in it. 

With Philip's wasting, debts had increased 
and Major Carewe saw no prospect of re- 
deeming the impoverished plantation. In another 
year Captain Benham had renewed his offer of 
purchase and a clearance sale was being contem- 
plated with plans for safe investment of the resi- 
due. 

The cause of the helpless child at his knee was 
fit for any knightly espousal. For that prattling 
four-year-old, that satiny head, those solemn 
eyes questioning the future; who would not gird 
on armor. 

The flow of immigration toward the golden 
West had not attracted the typical southern gen- 
tleman; but the harrowings of fate stir up the 
seed ground of the heart to wildings of new ven- 
tures. The semi-deserts of Arizona and Cali- 
fornia were awaiting, but the old, old magic of 
irrigation to waken into newness of life. With a 
small outlay a homestead could be secured. The 
mountain lakes were continually storing up the 


38 


TRANSPLANTED. 


life-giving water for the parched plain below. 
Major Carewe, yearning over the mite of human- 
ity so cruelly defrauded of her inheritance, saw 
the beckoning hand; heard Hope whisper “It is 
the only way.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


39 


CHAPTER VII. 

All a haze of heat, swam the mesa under the 
rays of the westering sun, but the long low ranch 
house looked cool in its embowering grove of 
orchard and shade trees. 

The grizzled ranchman on the east porch was 
not reclining in any restful attitude, but sitting 
upright scanning the mountain slopes with anx- 
ious hawk-like gaze. The child seated on the step 
patted and stroked the soft ears of Sancho the 
hound, curled at his master’s feet. 

“Nice old Sankey, Sankee-e,” then timidly 
glancing upward, “Grandfather!” 

“Well, dearie, what is it?” 

“May I ask you again now?” 

“Ask me what, child?” 

“Why-ee you said I might ask again about my 
arbor when you were not busy, and you’re not 
busy now.” 

“N-n-o, not very,” and the bronzed and bearded 
features softened somewhat yet wore their air 
of pre-occupation. 

“If I could have an arbor, a little teenty weenty 
one like we used to play in, Cousin Alice and me, 
Grandfather, I wakened and saw it last night. 
The vines all waved and 'swung, not like they 
used to be. They had little bells on and they went 
tinkle tinkle all the time. Alice was there and 
we made flower ladies of creeper blooms with 


40 


TRANSPLANTED. 


morning glory overskirts. Then real fairies 
peeped out of the roses. 

“Evelyn, it seems to me we have a few flower- 
beds here and vines on the piazza.” 

“But, oh dear, I don’t like them! I want the 
arbor and the kind we played with — jasmine, cle- 
matis, wistaria, and seven sister rose. We had a 
honeysuckle vine, too. Mammy Juno says she is 
’just a honin’ foh dat blossom- place lak paradise. 
Now, Grandfather, can’t we have the plants sent 
out here; I’d ’tend them. We’d have it by the 
waterbrook in the orchard. You’re not listening, 
Grandfather. Does your head hurt? 

The little girl sprang up and began fanning the 
man who had sunk back in his chair, with her 
apron. 

“I’ll ask Mammy for her big fan. Ma’amselle is 
resting now, I think.” 

Major Carewe made no effort to destrain his 
granddaughter, and there was relief in his 
troubled eyes as he watched the fairy-like form 
flit through the doorway. 

His gaze was fixed on the mountains again 
when she returned. 

“You are pale now, Grandfather, and your face 
was so red. It makes you sick to look at the 
mesa so much Mammy says. ‘Yo granpaw gwine 
plum stracted ober dat an’ an’ dem ditches.’ ” 

“Juno is a spoiled darky and talks too much 
entirely.” 

“What did she mean about the ditches. They 


TRANSPLANTED. 


41 


look so glittery and shiny down through the fields. 
They sing a pretty little song and I want my arbor 
by one of them; but I mustn’t bother you any 
more, if you don’t want to hear about the arbor.” 

“I did not mean that* Evie, but there is so much 
to think about. You do not understand. Sup- 
pose the water stopped coming.” 

“Why, Grandy, how could it? Isn’t there a lake 
or river up there where it comes from? Does a 
witch live up there to put a spell on it so it can’t 
run. Senora Estena says witches live in caves.” 

“Evelyn, Evelyn, you must not listen to the idle 
talk of gipsies and negroes. They are silly, sense- 
less babblers.” 

,“I won’t any more, nor ask for the arbor any 
more till Christmas.” 

“Well, well, child, go to Madamoiselle now. She 
will be wanting you to dress and brush your hair.” 

“And I’m to play my piece for you after supper. 
Ma’amselle says, ‘La petite, elle a l’esprit des 
doigts.’ ” 

But the weary old man did not seem to hear. 
His mind was wrought to a pitch super-vibrant 
to the human strain. 

Evelyn did not play her new piece for him that 
night, as the evening was far spent before he 
emerged from the little piazza room, as it was 
called, where he had been absorbed in a sheaf of 
papers from the locked drawer of his desk. 

The crescent moon hung in the purple sky over 
the serrated peaks. The mesa lay in shadow save 


42 


TRANSPLANTED. 


for a silvery streak, here and there, on sagebrush, 
clump and cactus monster. On the border of this 
desert paradise spread the green tent. On the 
green strip running down the slope toward him, 
the man walking back and forth on the piazza 
gazed with devouring passion and pride. Alfalfa, 
cotton and cane, teeming luxuriance threaded with 
life-giving rivulet from mountain snows. The 
parched mesa seemed a hateful sight ; it stood for 
what had been and what might again be his heri- 
tage beneath the skies. 

He had gone over the official documents care- 
fully ; his rights with the irrigation company were 
legally secure, yet that only added to his exaspera- 
tion when he realized the utterly lawless forces 
against him. This was in the early days of scien- 
tific reclamation in California desert lands, and 
there was infinitely more to contend with than 
climatic conditions. 

The two decades since the civil war had seen 
the tide of emigration rise to break on hostile 
headlands on an exceedingly craggy shore. Major 
Rodney Carewe had been as generous as his coun- 
trymen in his offerings to the lost cause and as 
brave as they in building anew from the frag- 
ments of shattered illusion. The goad of a help- 
less child’s need had driven him to enterprise 
worthy of a cavalier in Coronado’s train follow- 
ing the gleam of Eldorado’s sinking star. Five 
years of prospecting and pioneering and the wast- 
ed plantation on the Mississippi had been con- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


43 


verted to a vast expanse of quasi-desert with the 
new irrigation project well under way. 

As a capitalist the Major was of minor rank 
among the wealthy ranchers composing the con- 
cern ; but valued by Engineer Hale as one of those 
who do not lose a gentleman’s self-control. 

Time and again had the indomitable will of 
the southerner astonished those otherwise im- 
pressed by a certain idle elegance of manner. 

Cattle and sheep ranches bounded The Desert 
Rose to east and west; but the Major would have 
naught but cotton and cane of Louisiana. There 
was a tiny orange grove and cypress and willow 
interspersed the mimosa and yucca about the 
house. 

This was of white adobe and plaster in mission 
style with spacious verandas over run by native 
vines, fountains everywhere supplying the mois- 
ture for this veritable oasis. 

The portion reclaimed from the desert was 
yielding superbly and the man on the piazza tried 
to find surcease in the sigt. But the arid waste 
on either flank — what of that? His crops were 
mortgage'd to meet the indebtedness on those bar- 
ren acres. The irrigation plant had suffered 
costly disaster from recent storms, and a faulty 
consignment of concrete had delayed the con- 
struction of the new dam across the Tahaqui river. 

And this late news of disaffection among the 
workmen, — perhaps already a strike paralyzing 
the all too laggard pace of progress. If ’twere 


44 


TRANSPLANTED. 


not for Evelyn things might go their way. Ah, 
and my conscience smites me for that cross tone 
to little Evelyn today. Somehow the child irri- 
tates me when I am overwrought. Such a tease 
about some little fancy or other — oh, I remember 
now, ’twas a little arbor like the old arbor in 
Louisiana at Belleroche. Where she and Allie used 
to play. What tiny things they were, Evie, Isa- 
belle’s sunny-headed fairy and Louise’s wee las- 
sie of dark curls. How they played with flowers, 
always some game of blossoms! I refused to 
consider the arbor project because it seemed so 
foolish and useless expense when the child has 
vines and flowers of all California’s growing. 
Enough for a woodsprite let alone an ordinary 
child ; but Evelyn is not an ordinary child nor do 
I wish her to be. My object in providing a French 
governess is to make her a young lady of dis- 
tinction.” 

All through the night thoughts of Eve- 
lyn, her youth and dependence mingled with her 
grandfather’ uneasy slumber, visions, too, of the 
spendthrift - son stricken in youth and the girl- 
wife fading under the blight of wasted affection. 

There had been no thought other than of bring- 
ing the little orphan west accompanied, of course, 
by the faithful Juno, daughter to Mammy Luce, 
nurse and monitor of long troublous years of war- 
nurse and monitor through long troublous years 
of war-time at Belleroche. Five years in the se- 
clusion of Desert Rose Ranch under the tutelage 


TRANSPLANTED. 


45 


of Madamoiselle Eugenie Santelle, French impov- 
erished aristocrat, had wrought a wondrous per- 
sonality in the^apt child. 

Vivacious and carefree she revelled in out-door 
life. Lessons were learned and recited on rustic 
seats beneath blossoming boughs as often as in 
the school room. On rare ecstatic drives with her 
grandfather in the light buckboard, she mani- 
fest an eerie insight into the myriad life about 
her that brought to Major Carewe memories of 
the dreamy impractical son. “My little lad used 
to ask questions like that trotting at my side on 
the lawn at Belleroche — dear old plantation,” he 
would sigh and Evelyn would lapse into awed 
silence. Her mind seemed to cherish a few recol- 
lections poignantly, scenes limned on the plastic 
brain sensitized with the rapture of a child’s 
dream world. Immortal glamour hung over the 
far-away Louisiana homestead peopled with free 
negroes, their jollity and sloth. 





TRANSPLANTED. 


47 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The office of the Mutual Irrigation Company 
was the scene of a serious consultation. Among 
the directors were Mr. John McFinney, owner of 
ten thousand acres newly reclaimed pasturage. 
Senor Don Miguel, recent purchaser of the La 
Guayra mission lands since the decline of the 
Catholic power in that region, and Hon. Mark 
Blosser, politician and social diplomat of Esmeral- 
do county-seat, a mountain hamlet of cosmopoli- 
tan character. Major Care we opened the discus- 
sion, this being a privilege accorded his personal- 
ity at these meetings. There was grave anxiety in 
his looks and tones. 

“Gentlemen, we have an unusual problem to 
solve. The need of increased resources is most 
pressing/ None of the stockholders can extend 
prospects for another year without additional 
water facilities. 

“The disaffection among the workmen has 
brought the work nearly to a standstill. Once an 
absolute strike is declared we are at the mercy of 
the malcontents, because delay is ruinous now. 
I understand the trouble originates in prejudice 
against the oriental element employed.” 

Senor Miguel was eager for retaliatory meas- 
ures. “Yield not an inch” he counselled. “It will 
not last long. The masons will be back in three 
days when they get more hungry. No more care 


48 


TRANSPLANTED. 


if Jap and Chinaman work alongside then. All in 
harmony. We can afford that pequeno.” 

“Right ye arre,” commended Mr. McFinney. 
“Always a few hids must be broke, ye know. 
The interduction o' furraner^ be a bit o’ rough 
house th’ toime injurin, ye know, but Twill all 
kem out in the wash.” 

The laughter at this subsided as Hon. Mark 
rose to speak. “Late news from the camp gives 
me great alarm. The feeling is intense, rioting 
has begun. When attacked by the Mexicans the 
Japanese workmen stood their ground, showing 
unexpected fighting qualities. Neither force will 
work to-morrow unless the other be discharged 
from our employ. The superintendent laid off 
the entire gang with full pay pending adjustment. 
There was nothing else but to allow them to stab 
each other. Now allow me to submit a coopera- 
tive plan. There are no more than a dozen Chinks, 
as the men call them. I can employ half that 
number on my ranch and in the house in town. 
They prefer gardening and tree planting and I 
will better their present wage. Can the gentle- 
men present offer employment on the remaining 
six? With the gradual reclamation of waste land, 
will come a steady demand for farm labor which 
v/ill help solve the oriental problem for us. 

The plan met with ready acceptance. Major 
Carewe, fully aware of the supernumeraries about 
The Desert Rose, promised to provide a Jap boy 


TRANSPLANTED. 


49 


with employment as gardener and general servi- 
tor. 

The meeting adjourned with this half way 
measure. No mention was made of the shortage 
of skilled workmen, a thing for which Engineer 
Hale had requested special consideration. 

Anxious thoughts concerning the delay in con- 
struction of the new dam occupied the Major's 
meditations on his way homeward. Increase of 
water supply was needed, and time meant so 
much. His holdings in the company were so small 
that his rights enabled the reclamation of but a 
tiny strip of mesa year by year and at present 
every atom of outlay must yield prompt returns. 
The money for enlargement had been advanced 
by taking toll of the future. 

Riding through the narrow lanes he viewed 
the whitening billows of cotton and rank masses 
of heavy-headed cane with joy and pride; yet 
underneath, the tug of necessity made itself felt. 
Those crops must be harvested, carefully market- 
ed at the best rates, if obligations were to be met 
and credit given. How sharp the sting of wound- 
ed pride such natures, scornful of sordid bargain- 
ing, alone can know. 

With the sight of the first 'grinning negro, a 
sense of welcome home came to the proprietor 
of The Desert Rose. “Here, Sam,” as he flung 
the reins. “Give Sultan a rub down and come 
around for orders in about an hour — No; wait,, 
Sam, I'll tell you now that we shall have a new 


50 


TRANSPLANTED. 


boy, a Japanese, to help round to-morrow and I 
expect you to be very agreeable, no quarreling 
understand.” 

“Yassuh, yassuh,” then as his master walked 
majestically toward a group of idlers near the 
kitchen door. “Wunner what he gwine dat way, 
foh. Spec’ he dun tiahed dese yer gipsies. Dat 
ol’ yarb woman got dat lim’ o’ Satan boy wid 
huh ’gin. 01’ Marse ain’t gwine stan’ it I bet.” 
This last was addressed to his half brother, Mu- 
latto Ike. “Heah ’im say he got a Jap boy nex’? 
Spec’ it some ornery cuss. Yuh see dat wizzle 
face yarb woman boy hangin’ roun’ yere? Ain’t 
fur no good. He mammy wan’ git him a job, but 
law shucks! 

The “Yarb Woman” detached herself from the 
knot of servitors and came toward the master of 
the house. Her physique was of unusual grace 
even among gipsies, and instead of the usual 
gayly flowered cotton she wore a dark print of 
neat pattern. The flat basket on her head was re- 
moved to do deep obeisance. 

“Buenos dias, Senor.” 

How do you do, Senora, how is the herb trade 
to-day? I told Junq to purchase whatever was 
needed.” 

“Si, Senor, it is well; but I have something 
else to ask the good man. My son here,” beck- 
oning forward a half bold, half shrinking lad of 
the outcast type. “He must work. There is 
nothing up there in the arroyo, nothing. Those 


TRANSPLANTED. 


51 


men among the rocks they hammer, hammer, and 
he go with them maybe and I no more see him. 
What they say him he no tell, but it is all evil, 
evil, Diablerie I am sure. You have work, there 
are fields and the garden.” 

“Yes, yes, I see. Manuelo must be kept out of 
mischief. Come again, Senora, manana.” 

“Gracias Senor, manana, adios.” 

And this was the outcome of plans for retrench- 
ment! Major Carewe in the face of mounting ex- 
pense, had taken under his roof two more refu- 
gees from the war of economic forces, wages and 
labor, thereby adding to the debit side of his led- 
ger. He mused on the situation with cynical 
wonderment at himself yet with pride that the 
open-handed generosity of the Old > South could 
survive transplanting. There was much to occu- 
py the thoughts of the weary aging man that 
evening hour on the piazza. Knowing his mood, 
Madamoiselle had kept Evelyn at her practicing 
and embroidery longer than usual; but at length 
the daintily shod feet had crossed the floor un- 
heard and two lace clad arms were clasped about 
his neck and shining locks mingled with the iron 
gray of age. 

“Guess who, grandfather! You know! Those 
were the very first words I ever learned to speak. 
Mammy says — Oh, I forgot! You told me not to 
repeat mammy’s sayings or the senora’s, either, 
Please pardon me, I forgot.” 


52 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Never mind, child; never mind! My Evie 
wouldn’t disobey grandfather. 

“No, no; but let me just ask of if Manuelo 
wouldn’t be good to help round? His mother is 
so worried. She told us how he ran away some- 
times and stays with men camping on the moun- 
tains. They coax him away, she says.” 

“Senora Estena wants a favor I see, and of 
course she will get it. This Manuelo is probably 
a ne’er do well.” 

“I most asked about the arbor, too.” 

“You may get it, dear. Miracles are happen- 
ing every day.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


53 


CHAPTER IX. 

Next morning witnessed the installation of the 
raw recruits to the ranks of servitors at The Des- 
ert Rose. Hamo, the slim brown oriental, flitted 
about the wash house as silently as a moth. Juno 
was “mos’ laid up wid de mis’ry in mah back,” and 
it was thought best to delegate the Jap her as- 
sistant, sending Zeke to the stables where he and 
Sam found many diversions and much time for 
conversation. Major Carewe found more diffi- 
culty in placing the herbwoman’s son. Pedro, the 
gardener did not fancy the tattered nondescript 
of the slinking gait, so the lad was finally set to 
tend water gates and herd cows. 

A letter by special messenger announced that 
work on the Tahaqui had been resumed, though 
hindered by delay in supplies and depletion of 
workmen. So the grim veteran of more than 
physical warfare set his powers anew against 
defeat. “Let the future threaten.” Thus the in- 
ward resolve shaped itself. “Its menace shall not 
darken my Evelyn’s sky yet. She shall have her 
heart’s desire.” 

And so the miracle was achieved. Out on the 
border of the orange grove an octagon of pillars 
rose to be crowned with a pagoda like roof. From 
the first strke of the builder’s hammer the struc- 
ture had been the center of interest and comment 
at Desert Rose. 


54 


TRANSPLANTED. 


As one who fears to wake from a dream, Eve- 
lyn watched the progress of the work. Major 
Carewe had allowed the child’s wishes free play — » 
under the benevolent dictatorship of Madamoi- 
selle — and the new arbor was to be “just like the 
one we used to play in, Allie and I. Diplomatic 
indeed were the letters of Madamoiselle to the 
present owner of Belleroche on the Mississippi. 

Diplomacy won and the post from Emeraldo 
brought a wonderful box of rooted vines and rose 
slips, fresh and vigorous in their bed of damp 
moss. 

Planting day was a holiday of course. Pedro 
had waived his rights, (a magnanimous conces- 
sion), and Evelyn was to really scoop out a rest- 
ing place for each tiny plant, and with her own 
fingers press the soil about each tender root. 

The event was delayed for an hour by the ar- 
rival of unexpected company. Engineer Hale 
rode down to confer with Major Carewe on mat- 
ters of the construction camp. He was accom- 
panied by his son Richard and a strange youth 
who was introduced as Master Louis Brantome, 
son of an old friend in Carolina. 

The presence of strangers, particularly the lads 
with amused countenances, made the occasion a 
trying one for Evelyn. The child had been in a 
transport since the arrival of the precious plants, 
re-reading the labels, “Jasmine, Wistaria, Bou- 
gainvillea, Honeysuckle, Seven Sister Rose. How 
did you ever make them understand, Ma’amselle, 


TRANSPLANTED. 


55 


just what I have wanted so long? So long that 
my heart ached and I was hungry all over. But 
I’m so happy now that I can never be sad again 
unless they die, the dear vines.” 

“Ah non, ne parley-vous pas a mourir pour les 
belles plantes, Madamoiselle. C’est la vie ! la vie !” 

It is all to please my little girl, apologized Major 
Carewe to his guests as they watched the demure 
little figure in bright blue dress and broad hat, 
tripping alongside her governess and followed by 
a wild gipsy-looking lad carrying a basket of gar- 
den tools. Senora Estena, Mammy Juno, Sam, 
Zeke, Pedro, Hamo,and all the rest followed — a 
genuinely triumphal procession. The heart of 
Desert Rose beat high exultant over the fulfill- 
ment of a child’s whim — the child mistress of the 
ranch and darling of them all. 

Awkward with eagerness the excited little maid 
jabbed the soft earth with her trowel, set each 
plant more or less askew. Then plucking at the 
Major’s sleeve, “Dear Grandfather, please, ask 
Senora Estena to sing. She is a wise woman 
and knows what the Indians do. They sing at a 
planting for good luck !” 

“With all my heart, dear. Senora, favor us 
with a song, please. We shall all be charmed.” 

Evidently eager for the opportunity, the herb 
woman complied. Her voice and looks so strange- 
ly wild gave the whole scene a magic significance. 

The amusement of the audience gave place to 


56 


TRANSPLANTED. 


awed silence at the last stanza with its note of 
prophecy. 

“Green wil they grow, the clasping vine and 
vine, 

“For love, for hate, they twine and twine, 

“And close the climbing web within 
“A web of fate is spun so thin 
“For good, or ill, the spiders spin.” 

The gipsy’s eyes were raised to heaven, her 
body swaying to the rhythm, her hands moving 
in mystic passes over the vines at her feet. Ma- 
jor Carewe’s brows met in anger though his tea* 
tures maintained the composure of master and 
host. His dignity saved the situation from har- 
lequinade and gaucherie. 

“The woman is an herbseller and regards her- 
self a sort of retainer here. We indulge her be- 
cause of the virtues of her wares and then she has 
a pathetic story,” he explained as the gathering 
dispersed. 

“I have heard,” rejoined Mr. Hale, “that she 
and her son live in a cabin perched somewhere on 
the wall of Forked Canyon. She forsook the 
gipsy life years ago, I understand, and was in 
the mission school awhile. Her husband mis- 
treated the poor creature dreadfully.” 

“And the son is like him, will likely bring his 
mother naught but grief and shame. Her devo- 
tion to him is touching. Hale, I am getting to be 
an old man, silly and garrulous. Pardon my 
seeming indifferent attitude toward business. You 
have something of importance to state.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


57 


“Business, sir, in regard to the company’s pro- 
jects is stable I think if slow. No more workmen 
available ,but I anticipate a season of peace and 
quiet and that means much. The inherent law- 
lessness with which we have to deal might take 
the form of violence against our property; such 
disasters cannot be foreseen. That is the great- 
est menace now.” 

“Quite the greatest, Mr. Hale. With the favor 
of fortune I had hoped to reclaim a larger area 
than in any previous year; but it is not possible 
until the completion of the dam.” 

“Unfortunately so; the original lake tributar- 
ies having been tapped by contemporary corpor- 
ations, the water supply is barely sufficient for 
present needs. Meantime we must bear our ills. 
However, I really came to ask a favor.” 

The Major’s high-bred aquiline features soft- 
ened with the glow, a call for generosity always 
evoked. 

“Mr. Hale, I shall be most happy to oblige you 
if it lies within my power.” 

“Thank you; will you take charge of a small 
trust fund for me? As guardian of Louis Bran- 
tome I have a fe wthousand to loan, and if you 
can use the money ” 

“Sir, I am overwhelmed! The money will re- 
lieve some obligations and I can give mortgages 
to secure your ward against possible loss.” 

“He has a sort of claim on me, his father’s life- 
long friend, but it is not a responsibility of my 


58 


TRANSPLANTED. 


own choosing. His youth and peculiar disposition 
render guardianship rather formidable. I am 
glad to say that he is studious. Handsome, don’t 
you think?” 

Both men, looking out through the door of the 
small library, found interest in the dark slender 
lad on the piazza reading a pocket volume of some 
kind. Richard Hale was strolling up and down 
the gravelled walk beneath the mimosas. “See, 
my sturdy lad is not reading,” added Hale ; “he is 
an active, stirring youngster. Their tempers 
clash frequently. Louis has dark sullen moods. 
Poor Stephen allowed him his head entirely and 
now he is defiant if balked in the least whim. 
Richard is not fond of literary studies, his bent 
is mathematical and scientific ” 

“Encourage him ! Do not attempt to force the 
classics on an unwilling mind. I thank God, sir, 
for an inborn aptitude in that direction. My 
father possessed a rare appreciation of Horace, 
Homer, Shakespeare and Marlowe, and he sent 
me to a university. These,” and he waved a hand 
toward the closely filled shelves, “were compan- 
ions of my thought in the old plantation days. 
Ah, there came an hour of sacrifice for the cause 
we believed in! And the graces of life perished 
in a reconstruction that was creation from chaos 
itself.” 

The younger man sat listening with admiration 
at the note of loyal pride in the voice of the elder 
and hastened to say : 


TRANSPLANTED. 


59 


“Your counsel is able and I hope to avail myself 
of it often in this problem of juvenile training — 
two-fold as it happens. Louis is in the Franciscan 
school at Alcala, Richard has entered the Colorado 
Technical. Both seem fairly apt and tractable.” 

“I am honored, sir, in your confidence and with 
the upbringing of little Evelyn on my mind keep 
awake to this momentous problem. Will you re- 
main for luncheon?” 

Mr. Hale, having already risen declined on plea 
of an engagement with his lawyer. 

Major Carewe came out with his guest and 
Richard and Louis came to take leave of the host. 
In the few moments of conversation, while wait- 
ing for the horses, the Major noted keenly the 
antagonism between the youths, the round-faced 
ruddy Saxon of stocky frame and the challenging 
Latin temperament, with its listless scorn of glance 
and supercilious curve of thin nostrils and lips. 

“My friend, the engineer, realizes the serious- 
ness of his task. That is well,” thought the 
Major. 

Returning to his desk he became so absorbed 
in calculating the wisest application of the recent 
windfall, that the luncheon bell was unheeded 
while Juno grumbled in the kitchen. 

“Clah fo’ it Ok Marse haint de gemmun he pa 
war! Heah I dun thought we had comp’ny fo’ 
lunch lak ol’ times. De quality didn’t useter rush 
off dat away. 01’ Marse pa he sot up like a ram- 
rod in he cheer a’ ma’ch roun’ so proud. Don’t 


60 


TRANSPLANTED. 


boddah he haid ’bout dem figgahs none. Neb- 
bah so much as puckah he fo’haid. I say quality 
cornin’ down an’ we all drag tailin’ wid it. Dey 
cornin’ now, dat sweet putty chile an’ him. 
Hump yo’ se’f now, Zeke, and Hamo, pull yo’ jack- 
et straight!” 

True enough the caste of arrogance, idleness 
and ease had come down. Gone forever the gen- 
eration of those who toil not nor spin ; but the im- 
perishable essence of its spirit abides. 

Each succeeding year saw a new strip of mesa 
reclaimed on the Desert Rose. Every cycle 
brought more luxuriance of bud and bloom to the 
arbor of a child’s dream. The next decade whit- 
ened the head of Major Carewe and bowed his 
shoulders while it evolved a wondrous personal- 
ity of womanhood in his granddaughter. 


TRANSPLANTED. 


61 


CHAPTER X. 

The years of Evelyn Carewe’s schooling were 
long and monotonous at the ranch. 

Madamoiselle Eugenie had selected the insti- 
tution of Chartrain tradition — a select school for 
young ladies at present in charge of the widow 
of an eminent Episcopal clergyman. There in 
the environs of New Orleans, Evelyn and Aunt 
Louise’s daughter, Alice Dauphine, had applied 
their hearts unto wisdom, the lore of girlhood 
gleaned from poetic flashes, historic disclosures, 
prophetic revelations, fleeting friendships, — all 
that moulds the plastic mind. 

When the finished young lady returned to The 
Desert Rose she was accompanied by Miss Alice 
Dauphine, the vivacious cousin, whose small dark 
plumpness offered a perfect foil for the tall 
Evelyn’s lofty poise of head and clear-cut fea- 
tures lit by hazel eyes with glints of blue. 

With the advent of the young ladies renewed 
hospitality manifested itself in exchange cour- 
tesy with the neighboring ranch ov/ners. Mad- 
amoiselle Eugenie had been prevailed upon to 
return as chaperon and referee in all matters so- 
cial. 

Senora Miguel and her daughters were the most 
frequent guests. Ponderous and overdressed 
though she was, the Spanish lady achieved a dig- 
nity that served well for background against 


62 


TRANSPLANTED. 


which the brilliancy of Senorita Carlotta and Sen- 
orita Mercedez’ charms shone. Good-natured girls 
both albeit vain of their bright eyes and glowing 
cheeks destined to catch handsome husbands from 
among the throng of gay revellers at the big 
untidy rancho with its carefree entertaining. 

Richard Hale and Louis Brantome were always 
included in invitations to these functions, though 
the latter rarely attended. 

At the age of twenty-three Richard was already 
his father’s trusted and capable assistant. Gifted 
with mechanical genius, he had applied himself 
to the study of engineering and improvements in 
the clumsy devices of primitive irrigation were al- 
ready to his credit. 

Louis Brantome remained the same moody re- 
cluse, a prodigy of learning the padres attested. 
Since completing the course at Alcala Mission he 
had become interested in the study of natural his- 
tory; and Mr. Hale remarked that in time his 
ward might evolve a normal consideration and 
concern for human beings. At the Desert Rose 
his reserve gave way at times to a geniality as 
gratifying as surprising, the chill of his demeanor 
often infecting the spirit of the occasion. Alice 
Dauphine took the credit of this to herself and 
no one disputed the account although he seldom 
talked at any length. 

“Such a courtly listener” she was wont to de- 
clare; “he appreciates a lively conversationalist.” 

One glorious spring evening the four were rid- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


63 


ing homeward from an afternoon merienda at 
the Miguel rancho. Richard and Evelyn in ad- 
vance of Louis and Alice rode briskly for the first 
five miles, then with slackened rein fell into a 
walk for conversation’s sake. 

“Miss Carewe, you amaze me.’ 

“How, Mr. Hale?” 

“By your adaptiveness. This must all be so 
crude and empty after the thronged streets of a 
city like New Orleans, yet your mien is that of 
fondness for this mesa of sage-brush and cactus. 
You gaze on them kindly.” 

“Perhaps that is the best way to dispose of 
ever present objects.” 

“Do you mean to invest their ugliness with a 
halo of imagined beauty?” 

“Not ‘imagined’, the beauty is there in every- 
thing, waiting to be evoked. That is true of this 
valley. Nature left it a barren waste, yet with 
this hidden wealth within, awaiting the touch of 
science. The vital forces waken as of old water 
gushed from the smitten rock. But I am ridicu- 
lous, a boarding school miss quoting truisms of 
pedantry.” 

“Ridiculous? By no means! Go on please and 
apply your truisms to human nature. My father 
is constantly urging me to draw Louis Brantome 
out, in the attempt to transform him into a better 
natured, better mannered creature.” 

“Hadn’t you better delegate that to Alice?” 

They both laughed with tacit understanding of 


64 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Alice’s innocent wiles, as the pair came in sight. 
A few moments later the party had dismounted 
at the Desert Rose terrace and the young men 
were hesitating over Major Carewe’s invitation 
to spend the evening. Louis demurred on account 
of important mail matter due severel days since. 
“My camera supplies from Frisco,” he explained, 
“I had thought to telegraph from Emeraldo if 
they did not arrive to-day.” 

“Oh, come now, Brantome” and the Major’s 
hand on the youth’s shoulder was very cordial. 
“You cannot take photographs to-night. Sacri- 
fice yourself to an old man’s pleasure. We grow 
selfish in our dotage.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, thank you” Louis 
managed by way of acceptance whereupon Alice 
beamed commendation that the alien youth was 
amenable to social law really. But a later turn 
threatened backsliding when the host proposed a 
house party for the following week. 

They were all in the parlor, Evelyn had been 
singing, Alice playing accompaniment and Rich- 
ard turning the music. Apparently oblivious 
Louis’s eyes devoured page after page of the book 
on his knee. 

“This is cheer to an old rancher’s heart,” warm- 
ly commented the Major. Thus is youth renewed 
in the presence of gallantry and beauty. Evelyn, 
my dear, you and Alice have transplanted the 
flower of our social system, that of the Old South, 
here to grow for us a paradise regained, rid of 


TRANSPLANTED. 


65 


the poison-weed that lost us the first — slavery, 
the nettle we were too timorous to grasp because 
of its sting. But I am wandering from what I 
have to state. Important letters call me away 
next week and I wish you would invent some gay- 
ety for yourselves. Have one of those house par- 
ties after the old regime. Enlist Madamoiselle 
Eugenie. She will enjoy arranging the details, 
everything correct, in style.” 

“Delightful! Whom shall we invite?” came 
from both girls at once. 

“Why, you know. Mr. Hale, here and his broth- 
er. Mr. Brantome, Mr. and Mrs. Pringle, who 
entertained us at dinner, and others.” 

“You remember what a charming dinner it 
was, don’t you Alice?” said Evelyn. “There was 
Mrs. Pringle’s brother, a lawyer, Mr. Wainright. 
We must include him and Carlotta and Mercedes 
Miguel.” 

“I could not forget Mrs. Pringle’s surprising 
manner, and the tact she uses with that big bluff 
husband, so amusing. Shall you issue the invi- 
tations soon, Evelyn?” 

“Yes, to-morrow. Manuel and Hamo are swift 
messengers. The gentlemen present are already 
bidden.” 

“Though they have not accepted,” laughed 
Alice. Perhaps they have something better in 
prospect, in which case we shall postpone our en- 
tertaining.” 

Richard expressed his pleasure in the oppor- 


66 


TRANSPLANTED. 


tunity. “A week later would have found me 
lashed to the thwarts. Our new machinery ar- 
rives then and the plant must be put in working 
order without delay. At present I am of the 
same order of flitting winged moth as Hugh 
Wainwright and Louis here.” 

The pleasantry was ill-taken by Louis. There 
was resentment in his tone. “I plead guilty to 
the charge of idleness, as long as I do not build 
machines; but next week my photography keeps 
me in the dark room.” 

“Abode of mysteries,” jested Richard, “from 
the things that come out of it. I wish Major Ca- 
rewe and the ladies could see those early attempts. 
To the amateur photographer nothing is sacred. 
If he sought his prey now from creatures fitted 
for their own defense ; but he spies upon the un- 
wary and feeble of the wild — birds, nestlings 
even, horned toads, crickets, grasshoppers ” 

“Spiders and their webs,” amended Louis. 
“They are my favorites now. I hope for some 
marvels in webs when I develop my negatives for 
microscopic slides. There are some dark nooks 
in the cellar at home where fine specimens 
abound. Major Carewe, may I claim a would-be 
scientist’s excuse for attending to my business, 
or fad, as Richard terms it.” 

“Certainly, sir, I respect your reasons. Still 
it is a pity. My dear fellow, why didn't I think 
of it before. You can bring your photographic 


' TRANSPLANTED. 


67 


outfit along. Take that little room in the base- 
ment and use it for your developing. There are 
two or more vacant apartments, eh, Evelyn?” 
“Yes, grandfather; one next the wine cellar.” 



TRANSPLANTED. 


69 


r CHAPTER XI. 

Preparations for a social week of four days 
occupied the brief interval since the Major’s ini- 
tiative. 

Madamoiselle Eugenie was happy in the exer- 
cise of housewifely talents long repressed. Evelyn 
deferred to her in all things pertaining to the 
housing of the guests. Mammy Juno’s culinary 
skill had not deteriorated with the lapse of years 
since her creole training. Her roasts and broils 
were as savory, her “beat biscuit’ ’and pound cake 
as feathery, her jelly float as ethereal, as in old 
plantation days. 

When Evelyn went out to the arbor with her 
writing materials next day, she found Manuel 
at work training the vines. He was all obedience 
to act as messenger. 

“The senorita wishes I go queeck?” 

“If you please, Manuel. And I wish to tell you 
how pleased I am with the way you have kept 
my arbor. The wistaria and honeysuckle are 
coming into bloom and such masses of roses. I 
shall tell the guests how faithful you have been.” 

“Si, senorita, gracias.” 

“Your mother, Senora Estena, has not been 
here lately. Tell her our stock of herbs needs re- 
plenishing.” 

“Si, senorita.” 





TRANSPLANTED. 


71 


CHAPTER XII. 

“Would you have thought it of him?" queried 
Miss Alice Dauphine crossly of her cousin. “Noiv 
would you, Evelyn? You know any body might 
know that your grandfather suggested accom- 
modating Louis Brantome with a dark room ,out 
of civility, mere civility, to offset Louis’s lack of 
courtesy that evening. He has really taken your 
grandfather at his word and brought the whole 
abominable business along.” 

“We ought not to object, Allie? It amuses me 
to see the young enthusiast so devoted to his 
hobby, and you so put out over it.” 

“Why, oh why could not that developing wait 
five or six days ?” 

“Because, my dear, this explorer is trying ex- 
periments and must see results. Have you not 
read thrilling stories of bacteriologists and their 
agonized vigils over ‘cultures.’ When I consider 
their devotion my frivolity stands rebuked.” 

“You are not frivolous, Evelyn. Our guest is 
lacking in appreciation of our hospitable plans.” 

“He will surely accompany us on our picnic to 
the canyon to-morrow, and get into the spirit of 
it all by the evening of the Miguel entertaining.” 

This topic formed the bed-time talk of the two 
girls on the night after arrival of the guests. 

Alice’s apprehensions were relieved next morn- 
ing when Louis presented himself as her escort 


72 


TRANSPLANTED. 


for the ride to Forked Canyon. Mr. and Mrs. 
Pringle, Clifford Hale and Mercedes Miguel drove 
in the Pringle’s road wagon with their high met- 
tled black ponies. Richard Hale accompanied 
Carlotta. Hugh Wainright and Evelyn were later 
in starting than the others, domestic affairs hav- 
ing detained the hostess. They rode rapidly 
across the level stretch of mesa overtaking the 
advance party at the turn into the canyon road 
or trail entering the valley that narrowed to an 
arroyo, in turn becoming a miniature canyon 
whose craggy sides, viewed from below, towered 
in minarets and spires of red brown and gray 
against the blue sky. 

The little cavalcade wound along tortuous paths 
among boulders and cactuses in blithe anticipa- 
tion of the soft spot destined for rest and refresh- 
ment. Alice and her escort were on ahead as 
guides. “The place was made known to us by 
Manuel, that Mexican boy at the ranch. His 
people live up here among the cliffs where there 
is a spring. This is called Forked Canyon on 
account of another stream joining it that enters 
through this branch canyon. This has worn a 
channel along one side, the water comes from 
springs of recent dates. They originated from 
some volcanic disturbance and the cliffs have 
blossomed ' into verdure for miles on that side. 
See that splash of green along the line of rocks. 
Where it ceases we turn into the side canyon.” 

“What a charming place, a bit of desert para- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


73 


dise. What are those white objects forther along 
the main canyon — tents ?” 

“I presume so. Manuel says there are many 
prospectors, some with assaying outfits, others 
with hammers and specimen cases. Manuel and 
his mother, the herb woman, look upon them as 
intruders, bandits, gipsies. Senora Estena be- 
longs to some gipsy tribe or other. She is afraid 
of Manuel's being enticed away by some strollers 
sometime; but he seems steady enough according 
to Major Carewe's opinion. Evelyn has to listen 
to Juno's constant ‘complaints of the dilatoriness 
of the servants about the plantation — or ranch — I 
should say. Here we are where the little rivulet 
loses itself in the sand! How pitiful to see!" 

There was a chorus of admiration from the en- 
tire party as turning the sharp angle of the can- 
yon wall the picnic-ground smiled from the shelv- 
ing slope. Here was the winding tracery of the 
rill from the boulders above, writ large in verdure 
overwhelming rock and waste. For the space of 
a half dozen rods on either side the leaping cas- 
cades shed their beneficence, the waters flowing 
away from the foot of the rock in a silvery rill, 
running swiftly to its death in the sand. 

Half hidden in the brush wood a grotesque 
dwelling appeared, an uncouth structure of clay 
cemented rock, from the chimney of which rose 
a thin curl of smoke. Before the unloading had 
time to begin two figures were seen coming down 
the path and greeted with delight. 


74 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“Senora Estena, and Manuel. I see by your 
looks we are welcome,” cried Evelyn gayly. “We 
invite you to join us. Our luncheon is to be 
spread in that bower under the willows. We beg 
your hospitality for some hot water for the tea 
making.” 

“Si, senorita, welcome! Me — I tell you how 
me so delight w’en Manuel he bring the presen’s 
last night. Gracias!” 

“Never mind, you are paying for them by in- 
viting us into your house.” 

“Sure, ladies, come in and rest, Manuel will 
ten’ ze ponies.” 

The interior of the hut was inviting, white- 
washed walls, red calico curtains, huge ollas filled 
with wild flowers. “We must peep into the kitchen 
en and see the new cooking stove,” said Alice. 
“Ah, what is this in your workbasket? — knitting 
and drawn work. See Evelyn, how lovely.” 

“If it please the senorita I have pride in it. It 
is from Indian squaws I learn. ’Twas the sisters 
at the convent, the blessed hermanas, Bernicia and 
Alvira, santas almas, ‘r,e.quiescant in pacem.’ I 
know the Latin for the dead. They are gone now, 
the hermanas, and I loved them so. But one must 
not be sad on a merienda like this. The kettle is 
on to boil for the tea. We shall serve you, Man- 
uel and I.” 

The company gathered in the shade of thick 
trees and vines, relished their chicken sandwiches. 


TRANSPLANTED. 


75 


salad, fruit and cake with the keen appetites of 
youth and health. 

Afterwards a few brief attempts at cliff climb- 
ing gave exercise for whatever spirit of adven- 
ture might animate anyone. 

Kindly, Mrs. Pringle interested herself in the 
herb woman’s store of dried roots and plants, as 
well as her primitive housekeeping. She was 
soon joined by Evelyn Carewe who had pleaded 
fatigue when asked to join the young people in 
their rambles, to the discomfiture of Hugh Wain- 
right, whose pleasure in her society was very 
evident. 

“My dear Miss Carewe,” Mrs. Princle exclaim- 
ed at sight of Evelyn, “did you ever see such a 
store of herbs ? So many kinds ! And this drawn 
work is wonderful. Senora, you are a very in- 
dustrious woman.” 

“Ah, the lady is most kind. The hands must 
have something to do when days are long and the 
mucho is away.” 

“It is of the son, Manuel, I wish to speak,” said 
Miss Carewe. “El buenos hijo. He is so faithful, 
tends my rose vines about the summer house ju6t 
as when I was a little tease, demanding service 
of some one constantly. Grandfather was indul- 
gent to build it for me, when we could scarcely af- 
ford irrigation at all. Manuel was a little fellow 
then.” 

“Eight years old.” 

“So he must be eighteen now. Why, Senora, 


76 


TRANSPLANTED. 


you cannot expect to keep him at home. He is at 
The Desert Rose part of the time.” 

The gaunt woman’s lined face had somewhat 
relaxed. “Ah ,the good Senor Carewe ! He saved 
my lad, my little lad from the wandering life — 
the gipsy blood is ever calling.” 

“Gipsy blood?” 

“Yes, gracious lady, that was what the sainted 
hermanas said. I must forget the gipsy blood. 
They taught me the holy faith and when I pray 
to the blessed virgin she smiles on me. Her 
heart was broken too. She had a dear muchacho.” 

“It is good that you pray, Senora Estena, and 
the praying will make you happy. The Father in 
heaven will take care of Manuel.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


77 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Finding the Mexican lad about the arbor next 
day, Evelyn sought to convey to his mind some 
sense of filial obligation. She commended his 
faithfulness, and told him of his mother’s anxiety. 
“La madre she is sad sometimes but she is all 
happiness when I tell her you are a good son.” 

The boy turned on her a wild beseeching look. 

“Pray, senorita, lovely lady, do not call me good. 
I am far from it. I wander, wander away, 
and la madre she does not know, she cannot un- 
derstand.” 

“Why, Manuel, how can you ! Promise me you 
will not run away with gipsies.” 

“Oh, I return! Ah, yes! Sometime the Major 
and all know. But please don’t call me good . 
I not bear it.” 

“Why not tell me all about this, this badness. 
Trust me,*Manuel.” 

“Sometime lady, sometime all come right.” 

Tumultous approach of a laughing chattering 
group sent Manuel about his work and directed 
the attention of Miss Carewe. Hugh Wainright, 
Clifford Hale, Mercedes Miguel and Alice Dau- 
phine all flung themselves into seats breathless 
from a race along the path. 

“Where is that elder brother of mine?” queried 
Clifford. “I supposed he and Louis were here. 
There he comes, looking as raspy as Aunt Aga- 


78 


TRANSPLANTED. 


tha’s poll parrot. Who’s that scowl for? Louis 
isn’t here.” 

“Of course not, too civilized for him. I left him 
in his dark room, walled in with his precious 
photographs, films, negatives — whatever they are. 
He has my opinion in plain terms. Louis has had 
the rearing of a gentleman. There’s no excuse 
for such churlishness.” 

“I hope you did not quarrel,” spoke up anxious 
Alice. 

“I’d rather your ladyship did not ask. Truth 
leads oft to the confessional,” was the reply ; and 
Evelyn’s tact alone saved the situation. She an- 
nounced that tea would be served in the arbor 
at an earlier hour than usual to give time for 
preparations for the evening. All were invited 
to attend the dinner and dance given by the gra- 
cious Senora Miguel, who had made ready for a 
great fete. Her entertaining was famed. Every- 
body would be delighted. 

As Hugh Wainright and Richard Hale walked 
toward the house together, the latter’s pent up 
indignation spoke — 

“Hugh, I’m in a deuced ill humor to-day. You 
must have noted at some time, Louis Brantome’s 
mortal antipathy toward me. You lawyer fellows 
are so keen on psychology, that it’s easy for you 
to see; but a dense chap like myself — I don’t 
know why he should elect to be such a boor when 
I’m around.” 

“As your father’s solicitor and legal advisor I 


TRANSPLANTED. 


79 


know young Brantome as his ward and that the 
fortune involved is the cause of needless anxiety. 
When Louis becomes of age it will be handed over 
to a rather ungrateful person.” 

“Say, rather, an ingrate. He imagines me en- 
joying some of his proceeds, as my father of 
course gets his percentage.” 

“Since his fourteenth year Louis has deemed 
himself capable of managing his own finances. 
You know he is a Catholic, and the padres at Al- 
cala have inoculated him with the idea that the 
Hales are revelling in his rightful revenue, which 
if donated to Holy Mother Church would insure 
Aves and Paternosters enough to waft Louis’s 
soul through any purgatory ; no matter what 
cavortings said soul might indulge in. Legal 
sense, he has none, and that proneness to fads — ” 

“Society will counteract that — Miss Alice Dau- 
phine now — eh?” 

“Ah, my dear fellow, so I had deluded myself — 
and here he is refusing to even consider the ball 
at Senor Miguel’s to-night. Oh, we had a pre- 
cious row. He has no excuse some new books on 
that mighty science photography. He is con- 
ceited enough to imagine himself eminent in that 
some day. I reminded him of his father’s con- 
cern for his welfare in entrusting him to my 
father’s care, of the efforts we are all making, 
lastly the kindness of the ladies in giving us a 
beatific week. I overstepped my bounds no 
doubt.” 


80 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“That’s a pity. Brantome would be quick to 
take offence, considering the lines already too 
straitened. Perusal of the elder Brantome’s will 
shows him to have been a person of rigid ideas. 
The son is not allowed free disposal of his own 
income. His education was meagerly provided 
for. A youth like that ought to travel but that 
must wait until he is of age. Quite natural that 
he should rebel ; but his attitude toward his guar- 
dian and yourself is inexcusable.” 

“We have borne much of his unreason and 
ill-temper, and my father has strained his powers 
under the will to the utmost for the indulgence 
of caprice and whim. Perhaps I was a bit offi- 
cious, but his clownish behavior in regard to 
Senora Miguel’s hospitality — ” 

“Well, he may veer round yet.” 

“If he doesn’t, he gets another drubbing from 
me.” 

“Ah, tut, tut, tut, Hale. Let it pass. You are 
getting obsessed, hagridden, with this brother’s 
keeper idea.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


81 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Senor Miguel’s great adobe dwelling was a 
scene of the crude lavish hospitality of prosperous 
ranch life. The party from The Desert Rose had 
dined with the Senor’s family in the long hall at 
a table richly spread. Later additional company 
gathered for the dance in the salon. 

Twinkling lights against the flower-decked 
walls brought out the brilliant red of the musi- 
cian’s jackets, the rainbow hues of brocaded silks, 
the gleam of gold on white necks and arms. Out 
in the plaza, fountains tinkled and blossoms shed 
their .perfume on the warm air. Here chatting 
groups and strolling couples watched the whirl- 
ing figures within through the long windows. 

“Alice is disappointed to-night,” remarked Eve- 
lyn to Richard Hale. “I may say highly indig- 
nant.” 

“And with perfect right. I hope Louis is ig- 
nored from this time forth.” 

“Oh, do not be unkind. There are always ex- 
tenuating circumstances.” 

“Not in this case. Louis is tired of our society 
and of Alice; and takes this way of ordering us 
to leave him alone. I know him, you see.” 

“Sometimes we presume to know: when fa- 
miliarity of close acquaintance has blinded us 
with illusions. I discovered that at school. But 
one must not preach.” 


82 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“Go on, Miss Carewe. Evelyn you have a will- 
ing listener. We need the wisdom of women, we 
men, with our headlong conclusions. A woman’s 
restraining hand could draw us back from many 
a precipice. Wordsworth’s ideal — 


“A perfect woman, nobly planned 
To warn, to comfort, to command.” 

“I fear you grow restive under feminine re- 
straint. Remember how you and Clifford used 
to plot mutiny against your Aunt Agatha and 
how comical her assumption of authority 
seemed ?” 

“To us hobble-de-hoys — yes ; but we do grow 
up finally if not to the full stature of manhood, 
at least toward understanding.” 

“I grant you all that and more; but why this 
confidence — in me?” 

“Why confide in you? Evelyn, Evelyn, let us 
sit here in this nook where the light falls on your 
head and what stammering I can do may ex- 
plain.” 

But Evelyn did not like the proffered seat. 
Just then the waltz came to a close and the dan- 
cers came out thronging the plaza. A fan tapped 
Richard’s shoulder; and a soft voice said, “Par- 
don, Senor Hale, my frien’ I beg to introduce ” 

At the same time a tall figure in uniform bowed 
before Evelyn. Miss Carewe, may I claim this 
dance?” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


83 


With a polite, “Excuse me, Mr. Hale,” Evelyn 
was gone and Richard found himself whirling 
through the mazes of the next dance with a pert 
and vivacious Miss Darcy, and later saying agree- 
able nothings to her on the plaza. 

















V 




. . 






























































' 


















. 

. 
















TRANSPLANTED. 


85 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The arbor was the usual refuge from boredom 
said listlessness ; and an hour after the late break- 
fast next morning it was occupied by Mr. and 
Mrs. Pringle, Hugh Wainright and Alice Dau- 
phine, amusing each other with impressions of 
last night’s fiesta. Evelyn Carewe and Mercedes 
Miguel, at some distance among the shrubbery, 
were clipping blossoms for the house. 

“Where is Louis Brantome?” queried Hugh. 
“I saw him walking about the grounds and 
thought to carry out a fell purpose I have of 
teasing him with what he missed last night.” 

“What effrontery!” laughed Mr. Pringle. 
“You’d taunt a St. Simeon Stylites on his pillar.” 

“No fun badgering Louis. Try Miss Carewe’s 
pet kitten here on my knee,” and the pudgy red 
hand stroked the snowy fur of the tiny creature. 

“Oh, Alex, how can you jest about Mr. Bran- 
tome ! Such a thoughtful interesting young face ! 
A mystery to me,” protested Mrs. Pringle. 

“More than a mystery; he’s a picture puzzle 
to me, my dear Caroline,” responded the imper- 
turbable Mr. Pringle, “an enigma, if you please, 
which I solve by granting him to be a genius of 
the incipient scientist sort. There he comes from 
the basement door over there. Why, bless my 
soul, Caroline, look! What are those boys doing 
with him? Seem to be supporting him.” 


86 TRANSPLANTED. . 

“He is ill! Mr. Brantome — fainting!” cried 
Alice. 

The whole group had risen by this time, and 
crowded down the steps to meet the strange fate- 
ful something, that the pale tottering youth was 
trying to tell. 

“Gentlemen ! Mr. Pringle ! Please keep the la- 
dies back. Hugh — it’s awful, what has happened ! 
In the basement — Richard — the boys found him.” 

Mr. Pringle and Hugh had each seized an arm 
and waved aside the terror-stricken Jake and 
Sam. 

“Here, sit down, Brantome, and tell us.” 

“No, no, no; come and see for yourselves, but 
not the ladies. Tell them Richard is hurt. He’s 
in the basement.” 

But there was no keeping anybody back. 
Drawn by the lure of tragedy, the entire house- 
hold converged toward the dim little pas- 
sage-way leading from the steps of the outdoor 
entrance, where on the rough cement floor be- 
tween the door of the wine cellar and Louis Bran- 
tome’s workshop or dark-room lay the body of 
Richard Hale. 

The only evidences of murder were the pool of 
blood beneath the head and a heavy gnarled club 
or walking stick, clutched in the stiffening fingers 
of the extended right hand. 

The coroner from Emeraldo found a discolora- 
tion directly over the heart due to a heavy blow. 


TRANSPLANTED. 


87 


The contusion on the head indicated skull frac- 
ture. 

“Death frotoi a blow by an unknown person and 
resultant fall” was the coroner's verdict, little 
heeded in the suspicious mutterings that arose 
from the moment of the gruesome discovery by 
Sam, who had been sent to sweep the cellar floor. 
It was the negro whom Evelyn questioned imme- 
diately, and in presence of the dead body. 

“Yas, Miss Ev'lyn, dis way I corned fum de 
outside doah an' see de wine cellar doah blam 
open an' an' sumpin' layin' close de wall — er — hu- 
mans! Yassum, I says an' a gemmun, too. Den 
I yell fer Jake an' we crope up an' I guess we 
bofe yells at sight o’ dat blood an' dem starin' 
eyes. Oh, my Gawd ! Den we sorter git our feet 
gwine, an' on de steps we runs slam bang inter 
Marse Louis. We shows him and he laigs look 
like dey gwine drap him foah we ebber gits him 
to de aih.” 

“That will do, Sam. See that you tell the cor- 
oner that. You and Jake are truthful, and this is 
dreadful for us all.” 

“Yas, Miss Ev'lyn, we ain't lyin' none. Gawd 
help us!” 

“Is that your hat lying there, Sam?” 

“No'm, lan' no, I ain't neber had nothin' but 
a straw hat ! Dat's a sombr'o. Some ol' ting 'long 
ter Manuel. Mammy make him sweep cellar tud- 
der day, an' he jis r'ar. Mammy say hits de 


88 


TRANSPLANTED. 


gipny blood in him, dat’s what riled up when he 
tech a broom, — natchully hate it so.” 

“Tut, tut, Sam, that’s gossip.” 

The shapeless sombrero, ragged and discolored, 
might have been lying there for years by the 
thick dust-laden cobwebs that clung to it as the 
coroner examined it for evidence, then threw it 
aside. The knotted stick was known to the ser- 
vants as one in common use to prop doors and 
windows. 

Another field of evidence seemed to obtrude 
itself on the general consciousness. Through a 
wide open door not three feet from Richard Hale’s 
dead body, the interior of Louis Brantome’s work 
room offered subtle suggestions that would not 
be ignored. Not one who glanced at the table 
with its litter of trays, films, lenses and slides, but 
started guiltily at the stab of memory recalling 
Louis Brantome’s insane dislike of Richard Hale, 
his guardian’s son. The suspicion was alarming, 
unkind, absurd; but it was there. 

When Edward Hale arrived there was evident 
purpose in his guarded questionings as to late 
manifestations of Louis’s animosity; and Hugh 
Wainright’s legal mind saw the forging of fetters. 

The suspected youth was in a pitiable state, 
whether from guilt, remorse, or fright. Shaking 
as with ague, he offered no word of condolence to 
his guardian but resigned himself to the minis- 
trations of Mr. Alex Pringle and his wife Caro- 
line, the kindly couple having invited him to ac- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


89 


company them home at the break-up of the house 
party. He was to remain there indefinitely. 

Major Carewe did not arrive at The Desert 
Rose until the day following the removal of the 
remains of his young friend and guest to the 
desolate house in Esmeraldo. 

Tired and worn though he was, the gallant old 
man set forth on a visit to Edward Hale to offer 
what of condolence staunch friendship might. 

Hugh Wainright had remained at the ranch, 
seeming to have advanced years in acquaintance 
during the terrible twenty-four hours. 





































X 





































































* 


TRANSPLANTED. 


91 


CHAPTER XV. 

The four sat in the library, the Major, bent and 
shrunken, his face set in lines of tragic grief, 
Evelyn on a low seat beside his arm chair, her 
composure fallen like a mask from a personality 
of suffering, intense to the point of agony; Alice 
pallid and wan, her dark eyes wild with hysteri- 
cal weeping, gazing from the depths of a sofa, 
Hugh Wainright directly opposite his host in an 
attitude of respectful attention. 

The lawyer’s mind was acutely strained on the 
situation in hand. He felt a desire to upheave 
and cast out the impudent rocks that obstruct the 
current of an orderly world. Here were placid 
lives of youth and age, caught in crime’s mael- 
strom somehow, and brutally battered and 
scarred. 

Major Carewe’s voice sounded old, old as he be- 
gan a courteous recognition of the young man’s 
efficiency. 

“At my age, sir, we lean on the arm of youth 
and rejoice in the steadiness of its support. Evie 
and Alice, my dear, we, as a family, can never hope 
to repay Mr. Wainright for his presence of mind 
and noble tact in dealing with this crisis of mis- 
fortune.” 

“I am highly repaid, Major Carewe, with your 
confidence and the hope of its continuance, in any 
capacity.” 


92 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“You are advisory counsel, and we rely on your 
advice in regard to procedure in the legal aspect 
of the case. Undoubtedly we must submit to an 
investigation of the premises.” 

“Yes, sir. Do not allow anything disturbed in 
either apartment of the basement, wine cellar, 
work room or the passage-way between them. 
Mr. Hale will probably have Louis arrested the 
day after the funeral. He is guarded now, I un- 
derstand by some of Richard’s close friends. Mr. 
Pringle says he is really too ill to leave his room. 
I was sorry to notify Mr. Hale that I could not 
serve him personally any longer. Owing to my 
regard for both Louis and Richard an unbiased 
opinion would be impossible.” 

“Do you believe Richard Hale was murdered,?” 
This from Alice, sitting upright, wide-eyed, be- 
seeching. 

“What other theory is tenable?” 

“That of accidental death. He must have gone 
down there to see Louis, who was really walking 
about the grounds somewhere. He had left the 
arbor but a few minutes before. Richard would 
be walking about in the basement waiting, and 
very likely to stumble over something and fall in 
that dark place. Probably that very stick tripped 
him and he fell, striking his head against the 
wall. Oh, don’t say he was murdered!” 

“Let us hope that time will prove he was not,” 
said the Major gently. 

“Allie,” said Evelyn, rising, “do you care to go 


TRANSPLANTED. 


93 


with me to talk a little with the servants. I 
promised to see them in the housekeeper's room. 
They are all so frightened. No danger of them 
going to the basement. I had to fetch poor Sam's 
broom, dropped in fright." 

When the young ladies had withdrawn the 
Major's pen -up thougnt .gave an unwonted ani- 
mation to his speech. 

“This tragic episode has revealed my trans- 
planted self to me. I rejoice in the falling away 
of some of our traditions — that one, for instance, 
that invests a man, a gentleman, sir, with the liv- 
ery of vengeance. In Louisiana, Mr. Wainright, 
blood calls for blood. An outrage against hospi- 
tality challenges every spark of pride and honor. 
An autocracy we were in those proud old days, 
inflated wit hself-esteem, fed on the adulation of 
cringing blacks and of fawning trader and spec- 
ulator. Out here, meeting the herdsman on his 
broncho, the Indian on his pony in the infinite 
spaces from range to range, the bigness, the free- 
dom of it all shows each his infinitesimal part in 
the whole scheme. Why play the avenger for a 
brief moment in the face of eternity ? The cycle 
of the stars will bring all to pass." 

“True, true ! What effort will be made now for 
the avenging of blood! Mr. Hale is calmly bent 
on justice as he sees it and that means proving 
Louis Brantome guilty of the murder." 

“Does Mr. Hale consider the fact that the lad 
was entering the cellar when the negroes made 


94 


TRANSPLANTED. 


the discovery. Wouldn’t he have fled? I have 
heard, too, that murderers often lurk near the 
scene of the murder. Must be nonsense, though.” 

“Not by any means, sir. There is an irresisti- 
ble fascination about it sometimes. Mr. Hale 
thinks that his son was stunned by a blow from 
Louis and that the latter was creeping back to 
make sure of his victim. He could have pretend- 
ed to discover the body if the negroes had not 
forestalled him. He was in the habit of working 
down there, and hoped for the general confusion 
to cover his agitation. This physical collapse is 
not a pretense. He feels the position in which he 
is placed acutely. Circumstances are against him. 
The quarrels between the two young men were 
matters of common talk. Richard was displeased 
with the conduct of Louis and there was at least 
one bitter altercation between them with the pros- 
pect of more. Perhaps a last reproach had goaded 
the poor fellow to madness.” 

“Ah, yes, these devilish tempers ! I could relate 
you thrilling encounters in the old duelling days. 
Would to God, sir, we had long ago learned 
brotherly love.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


95 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Two days later Evelyn Carewe was riding leis- 
urely along the Forked Canyon road. She had 
announced her intention of visiting the herb wo- 
man and inquiring about the son Manuel, who 
had been derelict from duty, no one seemed to 
remember how long. 

Evelyn was grateful for the lack of logic that 
might have linked his disappearance with the 
presence of the sombrero in the wine cellar and 
with his general delinquency. Surely no one but 
herself had heard his vehement “No, no, me not 
good. Me ver’ bad sometimes.” He had on one 
occasion brought Louis specimens for his photo- 
graphic studies, flowers and insects. 

Dismounting at the foot of the slope, she walked 
up the steep path to the cabin, the bridle-rein over 
her arm. 

As no slim, brown Manuelo came to take the 
pony, she felt a sureness oj. conviction that alarm- 
ed her. The door was open but no further sign 
of life visible. Tying Don Juan to a tree she un- 
strapped a small bundle from the saddle and 
turned toward the threshold to be met by a start- 
ling apparition. Senora Estena herself, but how 
changed, bent, haggard, stick supported, beckon- 
ing a welcome with a wavering arm. 

“Senora, you are ill! Why did you not send 
Manuelo to us for aid?” 


96 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“Ah, dear senorita, I know not where he is. 
Come sit down. You are pale and weary. They 
told me of the death at the rancho. I ask who, 
Manuel say nobody know but they search all time, 
long time for the wicked one. He say he go help, 
he know canyons and caves. I am sick for days 
but I tell him go, go, not mind me. Oh, I walk 
with my stick and I cook lil’, the frijoles and meal 
cakes.” 

“Poor, poor, woman, you must not stay here. 
Why not let us take you to the rancho.” 

“Ah, non, gracias ! The Padres will take me in 
the mission. Sister Ignacia is the head of the 
convent. I go there with my herbs and they give 
me absolution and penance. Did the senorita 
ever see the gran’ chapel and all the saints; best 
of all is Our Lady, all in satin with the jewels — 
how they glitter?” 

“Yes, dear Estena, I looked with wonder on 
those ornaments, necklaces, bracelets and 
brooches. Each a sign of penance, I suppose. 
What heart-breaking stories they could tell of 
flesh at war with spirit.” 

“One story, the senorita may hear some time, if 
the padre be willing.” 

“I trust it is not so terrible as the one we have 
just lived through.” 

“Ah, the kill — the murder. Who could hate 
the gay young Senor Ricardo Hale, with ever the 
laugh in his blue eye? Yet the dark frowning 
Senor Brantome hated him, they say, and hate is 


TRANSPLANTED. 


97 


so cruel. Sister Ignacia bid me cast it out. WeJJ, 
Miss Evelina, tell a poor old woman of the sad, 
sad burial rite? Was there no mass?” 

“No, Estena, the Hales are Protestants. A 
clergyman read the burial service in the parlor 
of the home where the coffin stood covered with 
flowers. It was heart-breaking to see the father’s 
grief. He has lost his mainstay, as you would if 
you lost Manuel.” 

A spasm of pain passed over the grimly lined 
face. “I may not keep him long, Sister Ignacia 
says, but the Mother of Sorrows will give me 
peace.” 

“When your boy comes home send him to me. 
I wish to speak with him and he must not fail 
me. He dares not.” 

“He be there. I make him understand.” 

“Here are some sweets for you, chocolates and 
a bit of linen for drawn work, bright new needles, 
too.” 

“Gracias, Senorita Evelina, I am too happy.” 

“Gocd-bye, dear friend. We shall see that you 
are cared for, Grandfather and I.” 

“Adios, adios ! Benedicite.” 

The package that Evelyn strapped again to her 
saddle unopened contained Manuel’s sombrero. 
She had intended to confront him with it, in hope 
of his self-betrayal; but no need now, his culpa- 
bility was established. She would keep the som- 
brero now with its cobwebs. Only yesterday her 
grandfather had commented on the fact that the 


•98 


TRANSPLANTED. 


coat worn by Louis Brantome on the fatal morn- 
ing had been seized by the prosecution, on account 
of the shoulder and sleeve bearing a few threads 
that looked like spider webs. Manuel would likely 
come back on hearing of Louis’s arrest. He 
might obey the summons to Desert Rose Ranch. 

Next evening Manuel really did appear. The 
cool spring twilight was falling as Evelyn Ca- 
rewe drew her dark wrap closely about her and 
rose fro mher seat in the arbor. 

“Manuel, come here.” 

The last vestige of doubt as to what she should 
say, vanished at sight of the cringing creature that 
seemed about to turn and flee. As he came nearer 
the slinking gait, down-cast eyes, and haggard 
countenance lent a more peremptory note to her 
interrogation. “Do you know that you left your 
sombrero in the wine cellar the morning Senor 
Richard Hale was found there dead?” 

Reeling as if from a blow, the boy managed to 
collect his shocked senses enough to (stammer 
some sort of a plea, whether of denial or excuse 
Evelyn did not stop to question. 

“Manuel, be seated on this bench and tell me 
exactly what happened that morning.” 

“Senorita, lady, for the love of God, don’ say 
it’s me killed Senor Hale. Mam’ Juno make me 
sweep one day. Maybe I lose the hat. It is in 
the ol’ shed, maybe. That is all.” 

“Manuel, that is not all! Do you wish to see 


TRANSPLANTED. 


99 


an innocent man like Mr. Brantome in prison be- 
cause you will not tell what you know?” 

“No, Senorita, no ! But the Senor he get free. 
He gran’ gentil hombre.” 

“Listen to me. You are afraid and this is your 
chance to get free. I do not know whether you 
killed the man or not, but you may be arrested on 
suspicion. This wildness, getting into bad com- 
pany, lying to your mother , absent from your 
work days at a time. Grandfather is at the end 
of his patience. It’s time for you to tell the 
truth and save yourself. You were working about 
the arbor that morning but not at the time of the 
murder. You had disappeared before the body 
was found by Sam and Jake. I think you were 
in the wine cellar. Now tell me what you went 
there for.” 

“To get the wine bottles. I sell the wine to men 
in camp in arroyo.” 

“Then you were stealing our wine — O Manuel!” 

“They like it so, dose mans and drink, drink — 
then talk much, all about gold.” 

“They talk about what?” 

“Gold, Senorita, gold they gon’ fin’ on Major 
Carewe lan’ and buy cheap.” 

“Why, oh why, poor boy, do you care about 
their talk?” 

The lad’s voice was half stifled with sobs. 

“Care! I care for, for love Major Carewe, love 
beautiful lady! Find gol’ maybe — make rich!” 

Startled, bewildered, dazed with such a reve- 


100 


TRANSPLANTED. 


lation, Evelyn felt her pride and scorn melt away 
into pity and self abasement. The acusing angel 
was now the sympathizing friend, beside the cul- 
prit, her hand reassuringly on his shoulder, her 
face suffused with tears. 

“Oh, poor, erring, faithful heart. Tell me the 
rest of the story.” 

“W’en I go for wine bottles, Senor Hale come 
down steps — call Louis. No answer. Then say 
‘Come out here, Brantome, I wish spik with you. 
W’at you hid mongst cobweb in there for? He 
step right up to door and make mad with me, oh 
so mad! Stick in my hand it fall. I strike with 
fist, and run past him. W’en I hide and listen 
they say ‘dead, dead.’ Ah, Senorita, the madness 
— it is all. I no wan’ kill Senor Ricardo! Some- 
time I think I die !” 

The boy was on his knees now, shuddering and 
sobbing. 

“Manuel, no time for crying now! Stand up 
straight and look at me! You must go and 
quickly to the Alcala Mission. Padre Andrea 
will care for you and your mother. The sisters 
will take charge of her while she is ill. As for 
you, they will give you lodging and work to do. 
Your life must be religious from now on. Do you 
understand?” 

“Si, senorita, to wear a robe, to shave the head, 
to work in the field to kneel on the stones for the 
long praying.” 

“ ’Tis a good life, Manuel, and the way for your 


TRANSPLANTED. 


101 


soul to be saved. The rage will die out, the black- 
ness in the heart. Then the white peace of love 
will come in. Go home to your mother to-night 
and on to the mission to-morrow.” 



TRANSPLANTED. 


103 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“Before I explain the presence of these objects, 
Mr. Wainright, kindly indulge me with an account 
of this dreadful preliminary hearing. Grandfather 
was too fatigued for questioning.” 

“Certainly, Miss Carewe, Louis was so agitated 
that his statements were confused though hardly 
contradictory. I think he scarcely understood the 
questions. Seemed bent on maintaining that he 
had not seen Richard at all that morning, though 
they must have been at breakfast together. De- 
nied being in the workshop at all and accounted 
for the cobwebs on his coat by saying that he 
spent a few minutes in the arbor. The prosecu- 
tor has seized upon the coat as evidence. Such 
pettiness!” 

“That gives me a lead. Please look at this as I 
hold it up to the light.” 

“It is that old slouch hat, probably Sam’s or 
Jake’s.” 

“No, they never wear this kind. It is the som- 
brero the coroner threw aside that day of the in- 
quest, you know” 

“I remember now. Whose is it?” 

“Manuel’s, I am sure he was lurking in the wine 
cellar and struck Richard in blind rage at being 
discovered. These are cellar cobwebs, thick and 
brown with dust.” 

“You are making astounding statements, Miss 


104 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Carewe. If we only had Manuel’s sworn confes- 
sion to that ! Nothing less would exonerate Louis 
I fear.” 

“The intuitions of our sex are usually ridiculed ; 
but I trust women’s ideas are not held in con- 
tempt by you.” 

“Assuredly not, Miss Carewe.” 

“When I understood the purport of the spider 
webs on Louis Brantome’s coat the thought came 
to me that these might serve as counterpoise. 
The ownership of the sombrero is not the ques- 
tion nor the hat itself, but the cobwebs. Believ- 
ing in Louis’s innocence I know the webs on his 
coat must have come from the arbor and of the 
garden or outdoor variety, quite different from 
the indoor kind. 

“Please look at these microscopic slides with me 
and observe those labelled ‘Garden Spider.’ You 
see they are wheel-shaped, the main threads con 7 
centric. Those labelled ‘Ground Spider,’ ‘Indoor 
Spider’ are of a close texture, filmy.” 

“May I ask where these slides came from?” 

“From Louis Brantome’s work room in the 
basement. Wouldn’t it be providential if his life 
could be saved by them?” 

“Miraculous, I should say; but we will omit 
nothing that may help him. Having refused to 
assist in the prosecution, I shall be glad to offer 
any testimony I can for the accused.” 

“Will you tell Louis’s attorney about the slides 


TRANSPLANTED. 


105 


and have microscopic appliances ready to make 
tests at the trial.” 

“Nothing could give me more pleasure. As it 
happens I know the defendant’s lawyer. Justin 
McReath. A bright fellow at school, he was.” 

“Does the proof seem conclusive?” 

“Allow me to be brutally frank and say ‘not at 
all.’ Nothing but the most specious argument 
could be based on it. There is the glaring fallacy 
of undistributed middle ; even if you were sure of 
your major premise.” 

“Oh, Mr. Wainright, I had hoped to be of some 
use, though not a scientist.” 

“A scientist would not dare assert that all gar- 
den spiders’ webs are volvular and concentric. 
Granting that even the reasoning would not neces- 
sarily follow that a certain web being volvular 
and concentric was that of a garden spider. In- 
door spiders are not debarred from manufactur- 
ing that species of web. There is grave appre- 
hension in my mind as to the characteristics of 
cobwebs.” 

“Please, Mr. Wainright, do not give it up! 
Louis is not a murderer ; he must be set free !” 

“I honor your loyalty to friendship, Miss Ca- 
rewe. With the faith of good women bestowed 
upon us, we men ought to conquer the savagery 
within us. There are fighting proclivities in us 
all, — and — poor Brantome. 

“However, I shall do my best. Justin McReath 
has an alert mind. Quick to discern fallacies, he 


106 


TRANSPLANTED. 


is just as skillful in smothering them on his own 
side. The judge and jury in this case are not 
likely to be naturalists; but our chance lies in 
their wishing to be considered so and therefore 
more easily impressed.” 

“I see what you mean, gulled, deceived. I hate 
deception !” 

“So do we all ; but this is in the interest of jus- 
tice. Your intuitions assure you of Brantome’s 
innocence.” 

“I did not say that ; but I am sure of it.” 

“Then, why not employ any evidence avail- 
able to produce a like conviction in the minds of 
the jury. The prosecution has adduced spider 
webs. The pace has been set. Ours the task to 
out-distance our opponents. This Mr. Blount is 
not the lawyer I should have chosen for prosecut- 
ing attorney, a pompous overbearing man, rather 
shallow and easily thrown off his guard. It is 
time I took my leave. You are tired and worn 
with this.” 

“Nothing to compare with my cousin. Miss 
Dauphine is not really able to bear the strain of 
attending the trial, but I presume we shall all be 
summoned as witnesses.” 

“A brutal shame, this dragging women into 
court; but such is our modern chivalry.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


107 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The mountain village of Emeraldo was crowd- 
ed with the usual motley of “court day.” The 
sight of a criminal known or suspected was com- 
mon enough but this case was unique. A house 
party of gentry at Desert Rose Ranch had been 
the occasion of tragedy, a place where brawls 
were unheard of. If it had been at Miguel’s 

The court-house square was agape with spec- 
tators. The dramatis personae had to walk be- 
tween packed lines of cowboys in buckskin, min- 
ers in grimy overalls, flashily arrayed gamblers 
and tattered saloon loafers. 

The judge on the bench was past middle age, 
bald and portly. There was the usual nondescript 
jury of ranchmen, lank, hard-faced, keen-eyed; 
merchants, rotund, double chinned and obsequi- 
ous; brokers and real estate agents with waxed 
mustaches and clothes of semi-fashionable cut. 

The prisoner entered leaning on the arm of his 
lawyer; his bowed head and wan, sharp features 
eliciting pitying remark. 

The prosecution purposed to bring out in full 
relief, the mortal antipathy existing between the 
defendant and the murdered man. Edward Hale 
and various employes and servants of his house- 
hold testified to the frequent manifestations of 
hatred on the part of Louis Brantome, and his 
unreasoning outbursts of temper. 


108 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Evelyn Carewe and Alice Dauphine scarcely 
listened to this, so eager were they for the final 

coup. 

A general rustling of surprise greeted thq pros- 
ecutor as he unwrapped a small package and 
carefully unfolded a garment of some kind. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, observe this coat, the 
one worn by the prisoner at the time Richard 
Hale was murdered. As I hand it to you each in 
turn for inspection, you will observe that the left 
shoulder and sleeve have cobwebs clinging to 
them. They are mute but eloquent witnesses, gen- 
tlemen, when the facts are fully considered. 

“Look at the coat and bear in mind that Louis 
Brantome was in his work room in a basement 
near a wine cellar festooned with cobwebs.” 

Justin McReath sprang to his feet. “Your 
honor, may I offer the objection that Prosecutor 
Blount is haranguing the jury on the general 
merits of the case before the evidence is in?” 

Though the objection was sustained, there was 
an air of triumph on the part of the prosecutor. 

The counsel for defense alone seemed unmoved 
by this startling evidence. With the deliberation 
of composure, he placed a polished wooden case 
about fifteen inches high by half as many square 
on the table. From this he took a compound mi- 
croscope and adjusted it. 

Evelyn Carewe, looking across at Louis Bran- 
tome, noted on his countenance the first flicker 
of real interest. A longing to reach the crisis 


TRANSPLANTED. 


109 


seized her, and she was glad to hear her name 
called. 

Justin McReath was offering her a man’s dilap- 
idated hat for inspection, holding it at arm’s 
length, twirling it on two fingers thrust inside 
the rent crown. 

“Miss Carewe, do you recognize this?” 

“I do.” 

“What is it?” 

“A sombrero.” 

“When and under what circumstances have you 
seen it before to-day?” 

“I picked it up after the coroner had thrown 
it aside in the basement where Richard Hale’s 
body was found, and later handed it to Mr. Wain- 
right.” 

“Gentleman of the jury, take note that Mr. 
Wainright handed the sombrero to me.” 

“Witness, what was your object in offering this 
piece of evidence?” 

“Hearing that cobwebs were to be brought in 
by the prosecution, I thought those clinging to 
this old hat might further the interests of jus- 
tice.” 

“Thank you, Miss Carewe. That is all.” 

There was a strange sense of mockery in it all 
to Evelyn as, sinking back limply into her seat, 
she watched the progress of the weather stained 
rag of felt with its fringe of cobwebs along the 
jury box. 

Hugh Wainright was the next witness called 


110 


TRANSPLANTED. 


to corroborate the statement in regard to the cus- 
tody of the sombrero. 

McReath’s next move thoroughly aroused the 
audience. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, you will have observed 
that the cobwebs on this hat are of an entirely 
different texture from those on the coat previous- 
ly examined.” 

“Your honor, I ask that you take both hat and 
coat in your personal charge; and that this hon- 
orable body of jurors compare the aforesaid spid- 
er-webs.” 

Prosecutor Blount, fuming and twisting his 
mustache, thought he saw an opportunity. 

“Your honor, I object.” 

“The objection is not sustained.” 

Lawyer McReath was calmly assorting some 
tiny oblongs of glass. 

“These microscopic slides are the work of a 
scientist, gentlemen of the jury. Observe the la- 
bels. ‘Web of Garden Spider,’ ‘Web of Indoor 
Spider,’ ‘Web of Ground Spider.’ Compare and 
note absolute dissimilarity. Here are photo- 
graphs of these magnified ten diameters.” 

Awed at first by the glibness of the demonstra- 
tion the countenances of the jurymen gradually 
rose to expectations into the pseudo-erudite squint 
that somehow dignifies the poorest bluff. The 
judge was visibly impressed. 

A hush fell on the court-room, followed a mo- 
ment later by a babel of whispering. The prose- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Ill 


cutor mopping alternately his face, head and neck 
with a very moist kerchief, trying to mobilize 
his forces. 

Too fearsome of irrevocable commitment, he 
dared hazard no objection in the face of entomo- 
logical lore. The powers of natural science were 
bearing down upon him. Hugh Wainright’s eye 
was formidable with technical lore — McReath 
fairly bristled with it! No doubt this unusual 
lawyer could name and tame those specimens nat- 
uralists kept in silly glass cases ! What picayune 
stuff biology had seemed to him at school ! A few 
fragments of nomenclature had lingered caught 
in the meshes of memory. “Cicada — Lepidoptra — 
Arachnae — ” 

The lawyer for the defense was readjusting the 
microscope. 

“Now, in your presence, gentlemen, I shall pro- 
ceed to take a fragment of the web from the coat 
of Louis Brantome, the defendant in this case, 
also a portion of the web from the hat found in 
the wine cellar near the spot where Richard 
Hale’s body was murdered.” 

With the point of a scalpel very dexterously 
the transfer was made and the two samples of 
cobwebs spread on black cardboard. In a twink- 
ling these were under the lens and presented to 
each astounded juror in turn. The novelty of 
this had its logical effect, instantaneous mental 
pursuit of an unexpected clue. 

Henceforth all interest centered in the spider 


112 


TRANSPLANTED. 


web test. Nothing else was talked of by the spec- 
tators gathered in after adjournment. Justin 
McReath and Hugh Wainright enjoyed their 
laugh in seclusion. 

Evelyn’s conscience sting had become a gnaw- 
ing pain, offset by the mounting fear of failure in 
the last resort of justice. The one other dread 
on her mind was the imminent questioning of the 
prosecutor. She had .undergone it so repeatedly 
in imagination that the reply came mechanically. 

“Miss Carewe, why did you retain that som- 
brero?” 

“In the interest of justice.” 

“To whom does it belong?” 

“To a Mexican boy employed by my grand- 
father.” 

“How came it in the cellar?” 

“Manuel was at one time required to sweep the 
basement.” 

“Did you intend to incifiminate this Mexican?” 

“No.” 

On the stand in his own defense the accused 
gave a coherent account of his whereabouts on 
the fatal morning. Did not converse with Rich- 
ard Hale at breakfast. Did not meet him at the 
arbor although spending a few minutes there. 
Strolled about the grounds until ready to resume 
his uncompleted work in the dark room. His 
first intimation of the crime had come from the 
negroes whom he met on the basement stairs. 

In his plea before the court the prosecutor re- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


113 


iterated all evidence showing the hatred of Louis 
Brantome toward the young man whom he con- 
sidered an enemy, and their violent quarrels. 

“Consider the facts, gentlemen. As this strick- 
en father has stated ; his kindly offices as guardian 
were wholly misconstrued by this perverted 
youth, whose mind had become poisoned by relig- 
ious teaching fit for the Dark Ages. Extrava- 
gance, fanaticism and impatience of restraint, all 
bred hatred of his best friend and that best 
friend’s son. It has been proven that the rude 
youth’s incivility to ladies had called forth remon- 
strances from Richard Hale, a young gentleman 
well fitted for monitor, and that an altercation 
took place the evening before the murder. 

“Louis Brantome, accused of this crime, had 
immured himself in the basement with naturalis- 
tic studies and amateur photography, using an 
apartment as a Mark room.’ Richard Hale had 
no object in going there except to converse with 
Brantome. He must have had something of im- 
portance to say that morning, and please note 
carefully, he had declared his intention of reprov- 
ing Brantome for a breach of courtesy toward the 
young ladies of the house party. 

“I do not presume to say what took place be- 
tween this high-spirited young man and the de- 
fendant, admittedly possessed of a mortal dislike 
and a passionate temper, but the result is logi- 
cal — hasty words, a fatal blow, flight and return. 

“Gentlemen, you as men of affairs, keen ob- 


114 


TRANSPLANTED. 


servers of human nature, know that there is some 
mysterious spell cast over a murderer by the scene 
of his crime. It not only haunts his mind; but 
draws him bodily. The slayer of Richard Hale 
had to return. He was creeping back to look upon 
the face of his victim when the servants met him 
on the stairs. 

“The very coat the defendant wore bears wit- 
ness to his guilt, by the cobwebs clinging to shoul- 
der and sleeve. The particular species of spider 
makes no difference. If the webs are those of the 
garden spider, nothing is proved but the fact that 
the defendant was excited and rushed heedlessly 
into some thicket of shrubbery.” 

The lawyer paused disconcerted by the discredit 
in the jurors’ eyes. They had detected the subter- 
fuge; but there was no retreat possible now, so 
he went on. 

“Logically now, what bearing could an old 
slouch hat, thrown aside by a servant sweeping 
the basement have on the case? None whatever, 
as well admit the wine bottles on the cellar 
shelves.” 

Mute antagonism on the part of the jury to- 
ward this specious refutation and lack of enthus- 
iasm in the spectators sapped the prosecutor’s 
speech of its last element of strength and he 
barely saved his dignity by a hastily framed con- 
clusion. 

Justin McReath’s plea was brief. He challeng- 
ed his opponent to adduce proof any really mur- 


TRANSPLANTED. 


115 


derous quarrel or menacing word. Louis Bran- 
tome was a pious recluse, trained in pensive and 
studious habits by learned Padre Francisco. 
Even admitting an unfriendly disposition toward 
the gay and merry Richard Hale, there was no 
proof of any personal violence. Louis Brantome 
had not been in the basement at Desert Rose 
ranch when Richard Hale came to seek him. The 
spider webs on his coat sleeve were not those of 
the wine cellar. The merest tyro in science could 
attest that Richard Hale came to his death either 
at the hands of an unknown person, or from an 
accidental fall. 

The charge to the jury laid a strong injunction 
on the careful weighing of evidence and against 
the undue emphasis on the sympathetic or emo- 
tional aspect of either side of the case. 

As the venue filed out under guard, the hope- 
lessness of justice swept over Evelyn Carewe. 
What a parody it all seemed and who and what 
was she to withhold her secret knowledge of Man- 
uel’s guilt ! Yet, poor Manuel, who with heart of 
human pity could betray such abjectness? 

Wickedly rash as the deed had been a noble, 
chivalrous impulse had launched Manuel on his 
fatal career. The murder was accidental, but 
who would believe it so? Nevertheless should 
the verdict of ‘guilty’ be returned, Louis Bran- 
tome must be cleared by nothing less than the 
real culprit’s confession. Could she summon 
power to command that? But after ten hours’ 


116 


TRANSPLANTED. 


deliberation the foreman announced “Acquitted 
for lack of evidence.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


117 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Hugh Wainright brought the news to The Des- 
ert Rose. Major Carewe, Alice and Evelyn were 
gathered in the library, scarcely speaking and then 
on indifferent topics. 

The courier delivered his news, standing, hat 
in hand, flushed and tremulous. The stern old 
Major had thrown an arm about the young man’s 
shoulders and was repeating “for lack of evi- 
dence — lack of evidence — thank God !” Alice, 
after a burst of hysterical laughter, was crying 
against the back of the sofa. Evelyn alone was 
calm as if for conscience sake. She had no right 
to glory in what seemed jugglery now, an oppor- 
tunist’s clever play upon the stupid vanity of 
counsel and jury. She had never before felt the 
cheapness of expedient, the taint of truckling. 
Hugh Wainright had been accomplice. Would he 
be co-suppliant.” 

“How did young Brantome receive the ver- 
dict.” Major Carewe was interrogating Hugh. 

“Apathetically, it seemed to me. A priest at- 
tended him, his father confessor, I suppose. They 
hurried away. I understand that Louis goes to- 
day to enter the monastery of St. Ignace, one of 
the Alcala institutions. The padres have broken 
his last reserve.” 

“Ah — that indeed ; it is well. He will find peace 


118 


TRANSPLANTED. 


there and eventually the lifting of the shadow 
that has fallen on his young life.” 

“Grandfather, should we not pay him at least 
one visit in his retreat?” 

“Why, Evelyn, dear child, it might be arrang- 
ed. I know Father Francisco and he is ever 
ready to oblige his friends. He would not refuse 
us admittance. Anyway we shall venture. How 
would you like the drive, Alice, in the double 
buckboard? The ponies are equal to that bit of 
mountain slope. 


TRANSPLANTED. 119 

CHAPTER XX. 

High above the turmoil of the lowlands, rested 
the clustered buildings of the Old Mission of Al- 
cala on its shelving plateau against the dark 
mountain pines. White gleamed the chapel fac- 
ade through its mantle of vines and on either 
side convent and monastery were visible above 
the bushy-headed olives green in full sunlight of 
the summer day, gray in its caressing breeze. 
High-spired against the blue sky the glittering 
cross spread arms of benediction over all. 

The monks toiling in the fields did not pause 
for more than a passing glance at the equipage 
with its handsome team and negro driver; al- 
though the sight might be the only such of a life- 
time. The barred gate in the arched entrance 
looked forbidding, and it required the ringing 
of a bell to elicit a response. The keeper appear- 
ed, bent and shrill of voice ; the gate was slid back 
a trifle and Major Carewe permitted to ask to 
see Father Francisco. 

The gate was again closed to be re-opened ten 
minutes later with an invitation to enter the 
court. It was an austere place with its flagged 
pavement and rude benches. The ladies seated 
themselves while Major Carewe walked up and 
down. 

Presently a tall dignified man in a rusty cos- 
sack appeared with pleased recognition. 


120 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“My dear Senor Carewe, I am glad. The sen- 
oritas? Are they relatives?” 

“My granddaughter, Miss Evelyn Carewe, and 
our guest, Miss Alice Dauphine.” 

“May we see Louis Brantome?” 

“Yes you, Major Carewe, but not the young 
ladies — our rules of Holy Church.” 

“Very well, thank you, Father Francisco. May 
I escort them to the convent and seek admittance 
there?” 

“You may. I will escort you all.” 

At the convent gates Father Francisco’s voice 
commanded ingress and singling out a guide from 
the nuns walking in pairs about the court bade 
her conduct the visitors to the Mother Superior’s 
room. 

Through the narrow empty corridors their foot- 
steps echoed until Alice clung to her cousin in 
nervous terror. 

Mother Angelique was imposing in her corpu- 
lence, breadth of skirt and length of veil. She hes- 
itated over the cards handed her by the little nov- 
ice attendant who stood by her chair. 

“Permit me to explain why I desire to visit the' 
hospital,” said Evelyn. There is a sick woman 
who must be there. I know her well. Senora 
Estena is her name with us.” 

“Ah, I will call Sister Veronica from the dis- 
pensary. Run Mariquita!” 

When Sister Veronica appeared there was no 
longer any doubt of the visitors being admitted 


TRANSPLANTED. 


121 


to the hospital. Her brown wrinkles went all in 
curves. 

Half reclining against the rude headboard of 
her bed, Senora Estena’s angular form looked 
shrunken with illness. Her face was pitifully 
withered and sharp. Like jet gleamed her sunk- 
en eyes, staring, gazing into nothingness. The 
gnarled hand outside the coarse coverlet twitched 
convulsively at the touch of Evelyn’s cool soft 
fingers. 

“Do you know me, dear old Estena? It’s Eve- 
lyn, and Alice is here, too. We have come to see 
you.” 

Electrified at the voice and touch, the listless 
frame started bolt upright. Leaning forward Es- 
tena searched with glowing orbs the faces of these 
two miraculous visitants. 

“My senoritas — stay ! Not go like others. An- 
gels go, oh, so queeck — devils stay — but not so 
many now since I do not long for it back — my sin 
offering.” 

“Dear Estena, we do not know” began Alice. 

“I tell it much, much, and nobody knows” 
moaned Estena. “I mean the pin, the jewel. It 
is on her robe — the Holy Virgin. She has it now. 
Sister Beatrice can tell.” 

A nurse standing near interposed gently, “She 
refers to a scarf pin — a diamond, which she of- 
fered to the Virgin Mary. It is on the robe of the 
image in the chapel.” 


122 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“I remember she told me something about it 
once but not the full story.” 

“How did she happen to possess a pin of such 
value,” asked Alice. 

“Oh, in some impious way, and it had caused 
her years of remorse and suffering.” 

Evelyn had seated herself on a stool at the bed- 
side and holding the knotted hand was gently 
caressing the bony arm in its coarse cotton sleeve. 

“Dear senora, are you happy now? Does Man- 
uel come often to see you?” 

“Ah, senorita, the dear boy. He was here yes- 
terday and told me of the good life. Some day he 
be good man like the brothers and the padres. 
Oh, ’tis good to see the robe and the shaven head. 
This is a holy place, not like the canon nor Louis- 
iana. 

“Estena, please tell me the story — your story. 
Did you ever live in Louisiana?” 

“Yes, my senorita, if you not hate me I will tell. 
We were gipsies, Romany folk going from land to 
land. We would camp on the islands among the 
bayous under the great cypresses with their hang- 
ing moss.. Forgive me; it was wicked but I did 
not know. They liked to come — gay young peo- 
ple from the plantation to have their fortune told. 
Older folk were too sad, ‘Because of the war,’ they 
said. 

“Ah, my senorita, do not hate me because I 
saw your father and loved him.” 

“ My father!” Evelyn could not stifle her cry 


TRANSPLANTED. 


123 


of shocked amazement at this revelation. Alice 
frightened, turned to Sister Beatrice. “She is 
delirious, isn’t she? Doesn’t know what she is 
saying?” 

“Perhaps,” assented the sister, “her mind wan- 
ders.” 

“When he came to learn the dance ’twas I who 
went wild. I taught him the scarf dance. He 
was mine I thought. We were happy — then the 
black shame when I found the pretty jewel. The 
good saints know I did not steal it. The fringe 
caught it and I cursed the old woman who bade 
me keep it, but I could not find Senor Felipe, I 
was afraid of the old Senor Carewe. He ordered 
me from the place. I was afraid. 

“More and more I hated the gipsies who made 
me sin. Always I try to run way. At last I did 
go to the West — far West. Then I hide in con- 
vent. The hermanas, good sisters, take me in. 
Then I wan’ be free again, run way again — this 
time with Juan — handsome wicked Juan who fol- 
low me. In the canon I build the hut — there Man- 
uel was born after Juan left me. Then — then — 
you know the herb woman senorita. But always 
I have the diamond of Senor Felipe Carewe. He 
had looked on me with eyes of kindness and he 
must think I steal like all gipsy women. Ah, lady, 
you know it not, the fiery eating canker of shame. 
I never tell Juan but when I go to the mission 
with herbs they talk to me, the priests, and I 
confess. When I pin the jewel on Our Blessed 


124 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Lady’s robe a healing dew fell on my heart. I 
could sleep now and dream of peace. Only for 
Manuel! Saints in heaven, he must not steal. 
He wanted gold — gold for Senorita Carewe. It 
was a madness. ‘The senorita should have wealth 
— I find gold’ he would moan in his sleep — poor 
boy.’’ 

The quavering voice was but a murmur now; 
the sunken eyes were closed. Evelyn sprang up 
and assisted the nurse in arranging the pillows of 
the poor sufferer. 

“Poor, poor woman — what a sad story,” fal- 
tered tearful Alice. 

“We must go now,” said Evelyn. “This has 
been a terrible strain on her. Good-bye, Dear 
Estena,” and the girl patted the withered cheek; 
“you have loved and suffered. Good-bye.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


125 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Major Carewe was waiting in the cloister with 
news of Louis Brantome. He had not seemed es- 
pecially glad to receive a visit from the world he 
had lately known. 

“Already a confirmed recluse, always one by 
temperament. All he needed was a few of the 
world’s buffets to make him turn his back on it. 
He will find peace, a very good substitute for 
happiness.” 

Alice scarcely spoke on the way homeward. 
Her affection for the strange Sir Knight of the 
Rueful Countenance had not been an infatuation ; 
but the tragedy of his life had power to over- 
shadow her whole future. The world had seemed 
a bright gay place heretofore. Young men had 
been amusing, if not deeply interesting. Louis 
Brantome bore the distinction of disdain. Under 
such a reserve must be genius to feed a woman’s 
pride of life, sometime — now nevermore! 

Evelyn was too utterly overwhelmed with the 
story of the gipsy girl’s penance to observe her 
cousin’s utter blankness at the Major’s words. 

That night at bedtime, missing Alice’s accus- 
tomed presence she went to seek her in her own 
room. “I will not disturb her, poor dear, if she 
is asleep,” thought the visitor peering through the 
half open door. 

No, Alice was not asleep. The moonlight flood- 


126 


TRANSPLANTED. 


ing the room showed her dark eyes wide with 
pain, like wells of sorrow in the white face framed 
in dark hair. 

“Come in, Evie, I was longing for you,” and 
the quivering voice ended in a sob. 

“Tell me what it is that keeps you awake, 
Allie. Here I am, right by you on the bed.” 

“I think I’ll go home to New Orleans. You’ll 
get tired of my dreariness and moping and I 
can’t ever be gay again, Evie — dear, not ever in 
this world!” 

“I know, darling. It’s this awful, awful thing 
that has happened, and poor silly Louis going to 
be a monk or priest, perhaps.” 

“You must have cared Allie; but he was of 
that recluse nature. Pardon my harshness, dear, 
but he was not fitted for happiness, not even for 
a normal existence. That Catholic teaching has 
somehow brought out all his antagonism toward 
the social system. 

“You know how I should love to keep you, 
dearie; but if you think a change would be bene- 
ficial I shall not be selfish about it. I’ll bear the 
loneliness as best I can. When you come again 
we shall have better times. Good-night.” 

In the bustle and excitement of packing and 
making Alice ready for her journey, Evelyn 
found surcease from the morbidity of thought 
that constantly assailed her. Once the ripple had 
subsided, the calm would be deadly. The secret 
of Manuel’s guilt might become intolerable, yet 


TRANSPLANTED. 


127 


why should it be disclosed? Louis Brantome had 
passed beyond the power of good or ill report. 
Manuel was not a wilful murderer. Love and 
loyalty had struck out the spark that had flamed 
into fires of the nether hell. Poor mortals all! 
Snaring those we would set free, blighting where 
we would bless. 

Worst of all she had somehow encouraged 
Richard Hale, might have loved him but for Hugh 
Wainright. Yet how could she be sure of a real 
regard on his part. 

Were they not joint conspirators — futile schem- 
ers? 



TRANSPLANTED. 


129 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“I am glad to find you in the arbor, Miss Ca- 
re we, I called to see Major Carewe on important 
business — a vital subject, but finding him absent 
must inflict my presence on you. What a charm- 
ing place, those magnificent roses forming a fit- 
ting background for a fair lady. May I sit be- 
side you?” 

For answer a work-basket piled with embroid- 
ery material was graciously moved. 

“The gallant Mr. Wainright! Lawyers know 
the arts of persuasion.” 

“The badge of our profession has many a less 
worthy emblazonment I fear. Let me plunge 
headlong into my contrite confession and own up 
that I was never aware of the bleak barrenness 
of victory before. You know to what I refer — 
all that useless chicanery. And to think it went 
down with spectators, judge and jury.” 

“That is the burden of my thought — how fool- 
ish it all was. A wave of humiliation sweeps 
over me at the recollection of my impertinence in 
attempting to direct the arm of justice.” 

“We were supposed to read Emerson at school. 
He says something about the Power above meting 
out the due of each unmindful of our puny efforts. 

“His judgments e’er fulfilled will be 
In daylight or in dark 
His thunderbolts have eyes to see 
And hasten to their mark.” 


130 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“And yet were I back to the hour when the sig- 
nificance of the cobwebs on the old sombrero 
dawned on me, could I forbear, could I ” 

“We are children, Evelyn, grasping at baubles ; 
but not childish enough to hold them for pure 
metal of truth.” 

“Was Mr. Hale in any way suspicious of the 
true murderer of his son?” 

“No, and it is better so. Suspicion is unjust, 
vengeful, cruel.” 

“I trust the guilty one may find peace after 
self-torturing of remorse and in penitence and 
prayer achieve salvation. Perhaps he may not 
be amenable to the power of wealth but to the 
power of love.” 

“The power of love! I have come to realize 
what it is. For no one else but you, Evelyn, 
would I have perpetrated such a bluff — taken such 
a professional risk. I came to-day to ask your 
grandfather’s permission to pay court to you in 
the manner of a southern gallant of his day ; but 
that seems stilted out here in California. 

“I wish to carry you off to my cave, primitive 
man fashion.” 

“And I wish to resist ; but shall probably arrive 
at the cave, primitive woman fashion.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


131 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“You haven’t told me how soon you wish to be 
married, Evelyn. I heard something about a 
Christmas or Christmas Eve wedding.” 

“I do not know grandfather ; the exact date has 
not been set. Hugh suggested Christmas; but 
out of consideration for Alice we ought to wait 
until spring when she can be with us again — 
perhaps. What is your preference?” 

“A very early date; but there is much to be 
done that my little girl may have a proper “set- 
ting out” as we southerners phrase it. I expected 
to remodel and refurnish this rude dwelling into 
something more befitting my Evelyn, ere her wed- 
ding.” 

“Oh, you dear, doting grandfather. This, my 
home, Desert Rose is the dearest spot to me, the 
most fit.” 

“There spoke my loyal, loving, little girl, and 
she must hear unpleasant news — tidings of more 
financial difficulties.” 

“Which I shall not mind in the least. What do 
I care for money or anything it can buy?” The 
girl had sprung from her seat beside Major Ca- 
rewe’s desk, and was bending over his bowed head 
encircling his drooping shoulders with caressing 
arms. 

“Ah that is the speech of youth and hope. 


132 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Thank God for such care-free spirits; but listen 
to what has happened. 

Drawing her low chair very close the girl with 
clasped hands resting on the old man’s knee, 
looked up with pitying wonder into his sadly 
lined face. 

“This letter informs me that a loan of capital — 
invested money, that is — money invested in Des- 
ert Rose Ranch, must be repaid at once. The 
money was borrowed years ago when I was in 
straits for irrigation rights that enabled me to 
reclaim enough acreage to make ranching profit- 
able. It is demanded now.” 

“Why, grandfather! whose money was it?” 

“Louis Brantome’s inheritance. As might be 
surmised, those priests, father confessors of his, 
lay claim to his fortune. Mr. Hale writes me 
enclosing Father Francisco’s demand for imme- 
diate payment. My only recourse is borrowing. 
I must negotiate a loan for the bulk of this debt. 
I have a little ready money; but my profits from 
year to year have gone for improvements. I am 
an old man now and despair of ever leaving you 
a homestead free of incumbrance. We are no 
worse off for this really. It is the dislike I feel to- 
ward the business of dealing with a strange cap- 
italist as my new creditor must be.” 

“Oh, poor grandfather; to think of your being 
so annoyed! It all comes from this dreadful 
thing that has happened — has cast a shadow over 
us all.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


133 


“There, there now, child! don’t dignify my 
' petty vaporings like that. I’m only vexed at the 
prospect of leaving an estate in the clutches of a 
professional money loaner. It pains me to cloud 
these happy hours of your engagement with sin- 
ister considerations; but I desire that you shall 
know exactly. 

“When I get the business on its new footing I 
shall prepare a careful statement for Hugh. He 
must know what an improvident guardian I have 
been to offer such a meagre dowry. There, there, 
Evie, don’t smother me and I’ll bewail the fates 
no more.” 

“Are all these papers important?” 

“Rather ,they belong to this business. This let- 
ter addresses a San Francisco firm.” 

“Well, let me put every scrap away, each in its 
proper pigeon hole and then I’ll take the letter 
to Sam who must be soon mounting for the post. 
Now you are to rest until dinner. We dine late 
this evening, Hugh could not come at the usual 
hour. I shall walk awhile.” 

The blaze of the low autumn sun without 
seemed scorching the very leaves from the trees 
bordering the rivulet, trickling along the edge of 
the lawn. Finding the heat intolerable, Evelyn 
sought the long endeared retreat of her arbor 
where the massed foliage defied the sun, jungle 
fashion. 

The cool solitude was balm to the girl’s mind 
harassed amid her happiness with th esight of 


134 


TRANSPLANTED. 


Majo rCarewe’s distress. Half reclining on the 
rustic seat she made a picture of pensiveness; 
her bright hair against the leafy wall, her eyes 
soft with unshed tears, wide with the intensity 
wf thought for the grief bowed old man. A vague 
dread rose within her consciousness. Alice had 
hoped for happiness. Was this the first bitter 
drop that should taint the whole cup? Was there 
some baleful ire in this alien haunted West? No, 
she must calm her misgivings ere time for Hugh 
to arrive. It was growing late, shadows were 
creeping toward her from the swaying vines at 
the entrance. What was that sound? Not the 
mind — more like a human being gasping for 
breath. She must go at once and dismiss these 
tremors. 

Ere she had taken the second step something 
confronted her in the doorway — a lank figure 
half wrapped in a cloak-like garment, hatless, 
with shaggy locks and gleaming eyes ; a form that 
swayed and fell as from exhaustion, then crept 
toward her gasping out, “Senorita, for the love of 
madre dios, stay a moment.” 

“Manuel.” Evelyn’s involuntary shriek of 
fright had been instantly stifled and she could 
command dignity now. 

“Manuel, have you run away from the Mis- 
sion ?” 

“Si, senorita, my mother she die an’ my heart 
sicken for the canyon. I go an’ fin’ bad men 


TRANSPLANTED. 


135 


there an’ maybe they dig gold, gold on Senor 
Carewe land.” 

“Never mind about that. What ails you?” 

“Why I hold this robe so tight me? We have 
a fight and they shoot the carabine, you know.” 

So here was a new horror, the youth was 
hurt, perhaps dying. If there was only a way to 
spare her grandfather. 

“Poor boy, I must run for help. We will take 
care of you. Why Manuel, what do you mean? 
Let go of my dress! Are you crazy? Let me go 
I tell you. I must get help.” 

“No help but one, Senorita, the grovelling crea- 
ture had scrambled half to his feet and now sank 
on one knee, holding the robe across his breast 
with one hand while the other clutched frantically 
at the lace flounces of Evelyn’s skirt. 

“The senorita can help, can cure the soul, the 
mind. Poor Manuel is crazy for love of the grand 
lady. La madre she say the senorita’s father 
love da gipsy. If you hate Manuel kill him. He 
die when you hate him.” 

The sound of footsteps and voices outside broke 
the spell of terror for Evelyn and eluding the 
madman’s grasp with a swift bound she collided 
with Major Carewe in the narrow doorway bowl- 
ing him over but for the steadying arm of the 
young man close behind him. 

“Why, Evelyn, what is this? Beg pardon, Mr. * 
,Wainright.” 


136 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“Grandfather, grandfather, it’s nothing! only 
he frightened me — Manuel in there.” 

“ Manuel ? that Mexican! What outrage is this? 
Take Evie to the house, Hugh, and I’ll call Jake 
and Sam.” 

“Listen, grandfather, please listen! He’s in 
there and he’s hurt — wounded. Has run away 
from the Mission. Don’t be harsh with him. I’m 
not badly frightened.” 

“Well, child, you look it anyway. But we shall 
certainly not punish a wounded man. Now go 
on in with Hugh.” 

Dinner was indeed late that evening, but car- 
ried off with fair dignity. Evelyn was glad to 
give no further account of Manuel who was be- 
ing tended by the kindly servants, all curiously 
hypothetical in solving the mystery of his wound, 
a mere bullet graze of the chest. 

Run away from the Mission had he? Of course 
all had foreseen that. Been in a fight? Nobody 
was surprised at that, neither at his seeking 
sanctuary at Desert Rose. Miss Evelyn was ever 
so kind to overlook that bad fright he gave her 
and Major Carewe — wasn’t he the grand gentle- 
man to send for the best surgeon in Emeraldo! 
Oh, of course the scamp would get well ! 

But Mantuel would not get well. Dr. Pratt was 
gravely silent at first, even puzzled. On the oc- 
casion of his second visit he pronounced the case 
hopeless. Incredulous looks from the household 
invited explanation which was conclusive. 


TRANSPLANTED. 


137 

4 

“The lad’s fevered condition, my dear Major 
Carewe, is not owing to that flesh wound in his 
chest. Its origin is in mental strain, fatigue, and 
lowered vitality. In his delirium he raves of the 
hated restraints of the cloister, of his mother’s 
death, of spying about prospector’s camps, the 
fighting and all such outlawry. I administered 
an opiate to stop his babble. In the morning he 
will be somewhat rational, perhaps, but extreme- 
ly weak. It will be his last day.” 

“Oh, Doctor Pratt,” cried Evelyn. “It seems 
so cruel! Can you not save the poor fellow?” 

“No, no ; and ’tis better for the lad. His mind 
is unhinged, and the lunacy of a dangerous char- 
acter; all the more so because of so-called ‘lucid 
intervals.’ It would be a case for the authorities, 
as common safety requires the incarceration of 
even the slightly demented.” 

“To be sure, to be sure;” assented Major Ca- 
rewe. “My little Evie has a warm heart for the 
outcast Mexicans. The herb woman and her son 
Manuel were favored. The woman did have an 
appealing way. From a strolling gipsy she be- 
came a saintly mission convert.” 

“Yes, I was attached to Senora Estena, and my 
childish heart rejoiced when you befriended her 
wayward son. I was proud of your goodness.” 

“A generous noble deed,” warmly commended 
Dr. Pratt. 

“One most ignoble of result” protested the Ma- 
jor. “Tut, tut, now!” 


138 


TRANSPLANTED. 


“Granting that the boy did turn outlaw; yet it 
is to your credit that he sought gentlefolk in his 
last extremity and dies like a Christian under a 
hospitable roof.” 

“I’m so glad he reached us,” murmured Evelyn 
tearfully. “His last hours shall be made peace- 
ful.” 

Early next morning it became generally known 
at Desert Rose that Manuel could not survive the 
day. 

On his white bed in the center of the white 
walled chamber he lay, motionless but for the 
quiverings of labored breath. 

Evelyn Carewe wan with pity, gently took the 
palm leaf fan from Juno’s hand. 

“Go, please, Mammy and get some rest. No, 
no, do not send Manda or Sally. I will stay 
awhile.” 

“Laws a mussy, Miss Ev’lyn, ain’t you 
skeered?” 

“Not in the least. I will ring when I need any- 
one.” 

As the door closed softly the dying man stirred 
and his eyes opened wide. 

Evelyn bent over him. “Do you know me, Man- 
uel?” 

A ghastly smile of recognition answered her. 
With all a woman’s tenderness she stroked his 
forehead, shuddering inwardly at the frightful 
ravage of fever. 

She had hoped that he would not try to speak; 


TRANSPLANTED. 


139 


but the tremulous lips were already striving to 
frame the word. 

“Senorita.” 

“Yes, Manuel.” 

“Senorita, you come. The saints hear me. 
You come get gold. In my robe — there.” 

The hoarse whisper was loud and distinct ,and 
the gleaming sunken eyes fixed on a tattered 
monk’s habit hanging on the wall. 

“For the senorita! — gold — inside! ” 

The agonized pleadings would not be silenced 
otherwise and the frenzied girl tore the garment 
from its peg. Her quick fingers detected an inner 
breast pocket and abstracted the contents — a tiny 
roll of buckskin tied with a thong. 

“Open — open!” commanded the whisper. 

Unrolled, the strip of leather revealed a coating 
of gleaming dust. 

“Si, Senorita! yours, YOURS. Manuel wild, 
wild — say — no love — no gold. Now Manuel die; 
Senorita live — rich — gold.” 

The next instant loud peals of the bell brought 
a crowd of servitors to find the death struggle all 
but over; and Evelyn Carewe crept to her own 
room shaken with heart sobs of genuine grief. 

Two days later, Evelyn laid the leather roll on 
her grandfather’s desk and bade him examine the 
contents. When the explanation of Manuel’s con- 
duct had been given in broken words by the girl 
who had unwittingly been the lode star of his 


140 


TRANSPLANTED. 


errant existence, both sat silent awhile, awed by 
the sense of tragedy. 

Finally the major, in subdued tones, “Evie I 
am thus rebuked for my lack of enterprise. No 
prospecting has ever been attempted by me. Now 
a stranger discovers your fortune for you.” 

“Then the stone hut where Estena lived really 
is on Desert Rose territory.” 

. “Yes, my latest survey line runs along the far- 
ther side of Forked Canyon. I must send some 
trustworthy person and an assayer to examine 
this vein.” 

“Report of campers leaving the canyon reached 
me yesterday. I have never molested the dwellers 
in tents, amid those barren rocks — seems inhos- 
pitable ; but poor Manuel must have alarmed 
them. Ah, here comes Hugh, perhaps he will 
verify our ‘find’ for us.” 

But when half an hour had been spent in ex- 
plaining the strange turn of fortune to Hugh 
Wainright, his fiancee still protested against 
claiming the gold. The couple walked back and 
forth on the piazza, the girl highly wrought in 
dissent. 

“Hugh, I cannot ever touch that gold, I do not 
want any mine. The poor boy lost his life for 
those few grains of gold. It is too precious for 
me.” 

“I understand how one of your refined sensibil- 
ities must feel, yet we cannot disregard Major 
Carewe’s request.” 


TRANSPLANTED. 


141 


“Grandfather’s requests are commands; and 
too, this may free him of indebtedness, unless the 
vein proves worthless.” 

“There is a chance of disappointment, but if 
the discovery proves true, a real gold mine; may 
I swing my hat, mountain ranger fashion, riding 
in to-morrow evening? ’Twould never be the way 
of a chevalier of Louisiana in old plantation days ; 
but my sweet southern flower has borne well the 
ordeal of her transplanting.” 

Just at sunset next evening, Major Carewe in 
his arm chair on the piazza descried the approach 
of a horseman in full gallop across the mesa, and 
called the attention of the girl standing straight 
and tall beside him. 

“I see,” said she, “and he is swinging his hat.” 

























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